#everyone is alive and their limbs are intact

[urhoneycombwitch]

shrine of your lights

🍯 honey flavour: edibles and a church wedding to attend. what could go wrong with Eddie as your plus one? 

🐝 the bees: FWB!Eddie x reader 

wc: 4.8k

content warnings: a smidge of Catholic blasphemy, weed usage, friends w/ benefits Eddie, R is a bit of a love (and relationship) skeptic and Eddie is lovesick, R+E are in their 20’s, pining, public sex (no one but them observes tho), R has hair long enough to tuck behind ears, R gets a hickey but skin tone/color is not described, R has breasts and a V, softdom Eddie, marking kink (?)

foreword: I listened to Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac for this. LOL. kind of AU bc it’s a few years after ssn 4 and everyone is alive and just fine (lovesick but oh well can’t b helped) based on this anon thank u for inspiring me!!!!

The stained glass window in front of you looms tall, afternoon light streaming through and casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished wood flooring. You stretch out a hand into the warm beam of sun, admiring the way the colors catch and bounce off your dainty star-chain bracelet.

When Eddie had suggested you two eat some weed brownies as a precursor to your (very distant, very Catholic) cousin’s wedding, you hadn’t quite expected to get as stoned as you are now. Since Eddie hasn’t attended any major life functions sober since 1981, and seeing as how you refuse to step foot inside a church space without some sort of social lubricant, the weed wasn’t a hard sell at all. 

To be fair, Eddie had warned you of their potency, and you had snuck another quarter of a brownie when his back was turned: but christ, your tolerance must be crazy low or something, ‘cuz a window has no right to be this mesmerizing. 

You’ve been staring at it for the past five minutes, in your own little world while a steady stream of wedding guests file in through the big oak doors and mill about before the ceremony. The warm, still air of the church is heady with the smell of fresh florals and incense, and a line of votive candles flicker and wink against the windowsill.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see Eddie’s still speaking in gentle tones with an elderly woman (whom you’re likely related to, hard to say) near the foyer, all charming smile and sincere hand pressed to the slip of bare chest his button-down displays. You’ve got to hand it to the guy, he’s really great at endearing himself to total strangers; he’s been a natural shoe-in for any plus-one you’ve needed over the past few years.

While Eddie is perfectly in his element, holding what looks to be an engaging conversation while stoned to all hell, your focus is drawn back to the window. You should probably be on the arm of your guest, seeing as how it’s your family wedding after all, but the swirling lights and colors are too alluring to pull yourself away from.

“Beautiful piece of art, isn’t it?”

The voice behind you is unfamiliar, and proper social graces here would call for an introduction, perhaps a firm handshake, but your limbs and tongue feel so loose and the reply is out of your mouth before you can think twice- “God, yeah. S’fucking gorgeous. I want one for my house.”

There’s a light cough, and when you turn on your low-heeled Mary Janes it’s under the amused eye of a priest- in full priest-garb. Green velvet robes and little hat and everything.

You realize your error- swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain- but the brief stint in Catholic school from when you were 6 is unfortunately not recalled in time to stop the scramble of swears mixed with apologies that come tumbling out. 

“Oh shit- I mean- fuck. Oh god. Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean-”

The priest- old as hell but thankfully with sense of humor still intact- smiles kindly at you and takes your hand in both of his, patting graciously. “No apologies are necessary, my dear. The beauty of God can be overwhelming and awe-inducing.”

You nod jerkily, grabbing on to his excuse- “Yes, yep. That’s exactly what happened. Struck down by the awe.”

The priest nods to you, and then to Eddie (who’s appeared at your side like a guard dog that sensed trouble), then wanders off down a row of pews to greet other guests.

You’re nearly doubled over with the effort it takes to conceal your laughter, Eddie stroking a calming hand down your back and chuckling with you under his breath. 

“Struck down by the awe, huh?” he echoes as you straighten back up and dab at the tears gathering against your lashline. “You really are somethin’.”

“That was so embarrassing but guess what-” here you lean in, voice a conspiratorial whisper as Eddie raises his eyebrows to look down his nose at you- “I don’t give a fuck ‘cuz I’m hi-igh.”

This last word is sung with a two-note lilt, and you turn back to the comfort of the sunny window as Eddie steps in beside you, shaking his head. “I told you to start with a lower dose, ya goose. Did you take more when I wasn’t looking?”

You shrug a shoulder, the soft linen of your cardigan brushing up against the hard leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Maybe. Couldn’t say. You gonna steal this window for me or what?”

He blows out a breath, pretending to appraise the size and heft, rapping his ringed knuckles against the sill- “Well normally I’d say ‘anything for my girl’, but we’d need a shrink ray for this type’a heist.”

“Maybe Dustin has one we can borrow.”

He sucks his front teeth, playing along, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Nah, little shit’s only got a ham radio. Useless when it comes to religious robbery.”

Eddie looks overly pleased when you giggle, but some of the humor in his face falls to concern as he reaches out to squeeze your upper arms. “Hey. You doin’ okay? If you’re too stoned to sit through the ceremony, I can find us a little spot to hole up in. I’m good at finding those.”

“I know you are,” you reply, waving away his worry. “I’m fine, honest. Do I look high?”

He holds you at arm’s length, giving you a contemplative once-over. “Nope. You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, affectionately, then smooth your palms over the front of your black slip dress and pull the scalloped sleeves of your cardigan into place. “Well, of that I am aware.”

Eddie winks, and you really wish you were sober enough that the warmth of his hands and the smell of his cologne would have less of an effect but high as you are, you want nothing more than to burrow into his neck and taste the salt of his skin. 

“Do I look high?” he asks, pulling away to do a little spin so you can appraise his appearance. 

Eddie Munson, as it turns out, cleans up very well for family functions: smart black boots, maroon button-down tucked into a pair of flare-legged trousers, worn but well-kept leather jacket to top the outfit off. And in signature Eddie fashion, little glints of silver highlight the ensemble- his usual chunky rings, stacked layers of thin chain necklaces, metal buckles on his coat and at his waist, even a set of tiny hoops (courtesy of your jewelry drawer) in his ears. 

The dryness in your mouth has nothing to do with your intoxication as you blink back to the present and give Eddie a once-over. “Uhm. Nope. You look sober. And very hot.”

He grins at you, wolfish, but then a bright chord of organ music signals the start of the ceremony. With a steady hand on your back, he leads you to a pew near the last row; when you’re both seated, his hand runs smoothly down to rest on your thigh, drumming a lazy beat with his thumb against you as the processional starts. 

Your cousin Marion looks lovely swathed in white tulle, contrasted with her groom in a black tux. Her mother, your aunt- Karen? Karina? can’t recall- dabs at her tears with a delicate lace handkerchief in the front pew as the couple exchanges vows, promising eternal and ineffable love until their ultimate demise, etcetera. 

You’re not someone who’s ever fallen prone to the gushy emotions that love seems to create in so many of your peers. While Nancy and Robin will dole out tissues to each other during some cheesy romcom, you’ll get ribbed for being so stoic. None of your breakups have ever ended in giant blowouts or dramatics from your side- hard to fight for something when you hadn’t really cared about it in the first place. 

That’s why you consider yourself so lucky, when it comes to Eddie. After the two of you ended your high school fling due to graduation, you’d come back to Hawkins after a few years of college and found yourself sneaking out like a teenager again to hang out with Eddie Munson. 

He told you he doesn’t want anything serious, either, and that he’s just fine being friends who sleep around and go to all of each other’s parties.

You almost believe him. 

He’s been to every one of your nephew’s hockey games this past season, and you’ve spent two cozy Christmases so far at the trailer with him and Wayne; every party in between has ended with Eddie driving you home, or (more frequently) back to his place. Your collective relatives and friends haven’t asked about your relationship status in years, and it’s all thanks to Eddie’s presence in your life: if the two of you aren’t technically dating, it’s really no one’s business. 

The old priest from earlier is droning on about some bible verse; uncomfortable on the hard bench and feeling restless, you shift your hips, and Eddie digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh.

“Quit. Squirming,” he murmurs, lips at your ear. When you shiver and still, he pats your leg and straightens again, eyes fixed to the front altar.

You and Eddie make it through the ceremony with minimal damage, only getting one dirty look from an older man in the pew ahead when you’d snickered at a dirty joke (courtesy of your benchmate). Marion and her new husband greet their guests one by one as everyone filters outside, and you coast easily through the interaction, kissing your cousin on both cheeks and fawning over her dress and giving just the right amount of congrats before Eddie plucks at your elbow to subtly redirect your attention. 

“Let’s get some food in you,” he says, linking your arms together as you follow the receiving line outdoors.

The reception is held just next to the church building in a surprisingly lovely courtyard. Sunlight filters through the willow trees at the edge of a grass yard, where a picnic basket awaits on each spread quilt. People are kicking off their dress shoes, unwinding with the lure of nature, kids chasing each other through the paths between blankets as adults wiggle their toes into the grass and dig into the luncheon.

Possibly, you’re high and over-romanticizing, but you can tell by the look on Eddie’s face he’s there with you, taking it all in from your blanket in a quiet corner of the yard. 

There are finger sandwiches in the basket, along with some fresh fruit and plastic utensils and plates to eat off of; Eddie fixes you a plate and you dig in happily, sock feet tucked under yourself, yours and Eddie’s shoes in a jumble nearby. 

“Could eat anything when I’m high,” you muse, then bite into a sandwich that has the perfect cream-cheese-to-cucumber ratio with a contented sigh. “Food is so good.”

Eddie snaps a baby carrot with his back teeth, then snorts at you before reaching out to tuck one side of your hair behind your ear before it gets eaten along with your food. “I know you can eat anything when you’re high. I once saw you scooping up apple pie with potato chips.”

You give him a sidelong frown, mouth full of bread and veg as you defend yourself- “Yeah, and it was great. Dee-licious. Would do it again if-”

Your name is being called, and you swivel to see a young man about your age weaving along the spaces between blankets towards yours and Eddie’s spot.

“Tony!” In a neat bit of multitasking, you manage to swallow your food and rise to your feet (albeit unsteadily, with Eddie’s hand snapping out to support your efforts), then hold your arms out to envelop the boy in a hug. “Oh my god, it’s been ages.”

Anthony Townsend has grown up in the time you’ve spent away- the last recollection you have of your former childhood neighbor is his mop of red hair bouncing with the trampoline his parents bought him in 6th grade. He grew into his looks, for sure- the awkwardness of pre-teen ears and too-big front teeth have settled into a very kind and handsome face.

He looks genuinely pleased to see you, returning your hug with a squeeze, pulling back to hold both your hands and ask about where you’ve been. You breeze through a highlighted version of the last few years, leaving out all the interdimensional monster bullshit and focusing the questions back on him.

Tony’s telling you about his father’s veterinary practice that’s still running smoothly when you feel Eddie at your back, and Tony falters, dropping your hands.

Social cues come a tad slow to you, under the influence, and you think Tony’s stumbling because you haven’t introduced him yet (how were you supposed to know Eddie’s been glaring daggers at the poor kid ever since you’d hugged him?), and you attempt to remedy your mistake with a casual remark- “You know, Eddie here has been feeding the stray cats at our place every night, a whole colony of them- there’s gotta be, what, ten of ‘em now?”

You turn to Eddie for confirmation, reeling a little at the dark scowl he’s still sporting as he nods. “Yup. Somethin’ like.”

Tony scratches at the back of his neck, freckled cheeks pink as he begins to back away- “Um, yeah. Cool. Well it was great to see you! I gotta…”

With a vague gesture, he turns and tails it back to his blanket on the other side of the yard. You whirl on Eddie, his face smoothing back into relaxed indifference, even as you hiss, “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t know what you mean, princess.”

“That,” you repeat, waving an arm in the air for emphasis. “I know I’m not sober but you were being weird, even by my standards.” 

There’s this look that Eddie gets, sometimes, when one of you bumps against the walls of your loosely-defined relationship- a brief flash of pain and sadness before it gets hidden away behind his comfortable mask of bravado.

He’s got it now- a small pinch in his eyebrows, doey eyes swimming with emotion, and you put a hand on his leather-clad arm as the pieces fall into place. “Were you… are you jealous?”

In the span of a blink, the mask is back up, and with a dry laugh that’s so unlike him, Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. What do I have to be jealous of, huh? ‘S not like we belong to each other.”

Maybe on a different day, with half the weed in your system, you’d be able to let this comment slide. But there’s something deeply hurtful about it, sinking and twisting in your stomach like a stone. Your grip tightens on Eddie’s arm, tears stinging hot at your eyes, voice a watery, desperate thing- “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Eddie is quick to comfort you, once he realizes you’re close to crying- “Shit, sweetheart. Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to think…” Your voice is still shaky with emotion as Eddie lets you hold on to him, gently shushing you even though there’s no one near enough to hear. “You’re important to me, Eddie. I never wanna make you mad, or upset, or-”

“I’m not.” Eddie cuts smoothly into your rambling, placing his hands on either side of your neck as you cling to him, cool rings kissing into your skin. “I’m not mad, promise. I was just being an asshole for no reason, okay? Could never be mad at you.”

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat, your breath and heart rate lulled to normal under his touch, his expression returning to the gentle fondness you’re used to seeing.

“Let’s finish up lunch, hm?” Eddie says, and with a final soft squeeze he pulls away from you, taking with him the warmth of his palms.  

It’s always like this, with him, at least in front of your respective families- any PDA is kept to a strict minimum, nothing too intimate or drawn out so as not to attract attention. You’d implemented this rule from the beginning, and Eddie has been nothing but respectful of it, your peace of mind over not wanting a label pacified.

But right now? The lack of Eddie’s arms around you or his lips on yours was starting to make you ache. 

You both settle into the blanket again, conversation flowing around mouthfuls of food as you catch Eddie up with the latest family gossip, laughing when he bats your pointer finger out of the air (as if anyone is really paying attention to you two giggling loons). 

Someone’s brought a radio and has it dialed to a soft rock station; you gasp and shove at Eddie (sprawled out like a house cat after a full meal in the sun), exclaiming “It’s Fleetwood Mac and you love Fleetwood Mac!”

“I so don’t,” he grumbles, but rises easily when you tug at him to stand sock-to-sock feet with you in the grass. 

You both fall into a smooth rhythm, Eddie’s hands staying (respectably) on your hips, yours looped around his neck, doing a slow little rotation. He gazes at you as you sway back and forth in each other’s arms, the scrutiny making you titter and fidget.

“What?”

“Thought I told you to quit squirmin’,' ' comes his answer, hands tightening into the meat of your waist. “Let me look at you a minute.”

So you let him look. 

While his chocolate eyes roam your face, you trail a hand up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger. Eddie leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, giving you room to do some staring of your own at those long, dark lashes. 

After another slow circle, Eddie inhales and draws himself back, clearing his throat. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, sweetheart, but we’re gonna start getting looks if you don’t quit using me as your personal stress toy.”

You snort. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“All good,” he replies, dimples springing into his cheeks, teasing again- “When we get home later you can pet me like a dog, if you want. Just gotta tone you down ‘cuz you get touchy when you’re high.”

Eddie’s being a perfect gentleman. He’s sticking to your rules and looking out for you.

So why is it making you so sad?

You realize, with a stunning clarity, that you don’t want to wait until you’re back at the trailer to touch Eddie. That you’re starting to crave him when he leaves, whether it’s for a day or an hour or just out of bed to get a snack. 

Fuck it, you think, and bend to scoop up your shoes. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tell Eddie, slipping on your shoes then starting towards the building. When you realize he’s not following, you pause, giving him a look over your shoulder- “Aren’t you coming?”

Eddie blinks, wondering if you’re insinuating what he thinks you’re insinuating or if he’s just really, really high. “Um. Uh…”

You don’t leave room for the shock to sink in, turning on your heel and smirking when you hear him swear under his breath and scramble to catch up. 

In a narrow hallway lined with portraits of long-dead saints, you push Eddie against the wall, mouth sealing over his and hands roaming hungrily over his body.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, in between kisses, your fingers tugging at the root of his hair, near the nape of his neck where it stings the best- “what’s got you so worked up, princess?”

“You.” The answer is an honest one. You slip your tongue between Eddie’s teeth and the boy moans, melting into you.

Peppering kisses down Eddie’s face, your lips settle into the hollow just under his jaw, then part to give room to your teeth. Eddie stiffens as you bite down, sensitive skin pierced by your mouth; it’s his turn to be the squirmy one as you suck a bruise into that soft spot. 

His cock is filling out, as proved by the steadily-growing bulge behind his zipper. You give a mean little wiggle of your hips and Eddie jolts so hard you lose your spot on his neck, popping off him with a wet smack.

“Angel, you have to stop.” Eddie sounds absolutely wrecked as he tries to maintain some distance, head tipped back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “M’not gonna last if you keep doing that. Let me take you home, we can-”

“Shhh.” You quiet him with a pointer finger smooshed against his lips, your other hand tilted to your ear. “You hear that?”

Eddie strains to hear distant cheers and hip hip hoorays from the festivities a few corridors away; when he nods, you whisper, “That’s the cake cutting. We have a good ten minutes before anyone thinks to come back here.”

At first, Eddie thinks he’s off the hook when you release him completely, walking swiftly towards the main sanctuary. But then, because you’re a temptress, you beckon him with an impatient wave.

And because he’s so easy for you, he follows.

It’s like that window has a magnetic pull- you’re back under the prismatic glow of the stained glass, brushing a hand across the wide sill to dust it before hopping up to perch there. You fit neatly between the split row of votive candles (all snuffed out by now), enough room for your knees to part and for Eddie to fill the space. 

You cross your arms around his neck, drawing him in with another deep kiss as his hands find your waist.

“Want you to mark me up,” you murmur, and when Eddie draws back, wary, you let your chin tip up. The crown of your head knocks into the window, exposing your throat. “Show them I’m yours, Eds.”

Only have to tell him twice, apparently, ‘cuz his teeth sink into your stretch of soft skin without further qualms. The feeling of his tongue soothing over the sore spot makes you jump, hips bucking forward into his hand that you didn’t even notice had trailed up the inside of your dress.

His long fingers pet at the wet patch that’s seeping through your underwear, catching at your clit on an upstroke, your gasp a harsh noise in the otherwise silent sanctuary.

Eddie begins to rub at you through the fabric in earnest now, tight circles with his thumb even as he pulls his mouth from your neck to assess his handiwork. “Yeah, fuck, sweetheart, that’s gonna leave a mark. You want everyone to know who you belong to, huh?”

Your bundle of nerves throbs under Eddie’s touch and you curse, hands weaving tight into his hair again. “Shit, Eddie, yeah- just like that…”

He dips back into the well of your neck with his teeth, keeps just the right amount of pressure on your clit, and that tension coiling in your lower stomach is just about to snap before you stop him with a hand around his wrist.

“Sorry,” you pant through the apology, forehead crushed to Eddie’s collarbone as you try and catch your breath. “Was about to come and I want you inside of me for that.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckles as you giggle, chastising- “Hush and mind your manners, Munson. That’s blaspheming and we’re about to fuck in a church.”

“I’ll show you manners.” Eddie has his pants and briefs shoved to mid-thigh before you can draw breath to tell him off; one hand smears precum down the shaft of his ruddy cock as the other pushes your dress up and hooks your panties to the side. 

You’re wet and worked up enough that he slides into the heat of you with ease, breath punching out with the way his cock completely fills you. When Eddie pulls out and sinks back in, you let out a keening whine and scrabble for purchase on his leather jacket. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it-” his voice is a dark rumble, each word punctuated with a snap of his hips, the squelch of your slick walls responding. “So wet for me. That’s my good girl. You like gettin’ off to being mine, huh, angel?”

You nod, head lolling against the window, and Eddie grins wicked even though you can’t see it. “Come on. Show me whose pussy this is.”

When his hand snakes between your bodies to press against your clit with his thumb, you come with a long, strained whimper, ankles crossing at the small of Eddie’s back to draw him closer while the velvet walls of your cunt spasm. 

Eddie’s free hand shoots out to the supporting wood arch of the window for stability as he angles his hips up, longing for that glossy honey-eyed look you get sometimes: and there it is, your eyes half-lidded and brow pinched in pleasure as his cock hits against that gummy spot, the tremble of your thighs locked around his waist as your orgasm peaks. 

Once he’s fucked you through the height of it, Eddie dips to bite at the taut muscle where your neck and shoulder meet, clamping down on the words threatening to flood out as his hips stutter. He comes hard, deep groan muffled into your neck, curses and praises spilling out in mindless babbling: “Fuck fuck, angel, that’s it, honey, shit, you’re so wet. All for me, huh, baby? Doin’ so good…”

He sags into your arms, pinning you to the window, chests heaving in tandem as you both catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, towards his ass, and then to the edge of his pants.

When he realizes that you’re trying to tuck him back into his clothes he whines at you, but you’re quick to shush him. “We’re cuttin’ it close with timing already, Eds. Help me out?”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away from the wet warmth of you to re-dress. Once his belt is in place he attends to you, helping shift the hem of your dress back down, rubbing his finger lightly under the skin of your eye where some mascara had smudged.

“I’ll double back for the keys and we’ll go home, ‘kay?” Eddie says, nose nudging into your cheek. “Wait here. You got some wicked marks and everyone will know we just fucked.”

“Pfft. No they won’t. Who would actually fuck in a church?” You push Eddie back playfully, hopping down from the sill with a wink. “You’ve gotta be sick to do that. Good thing my family believes you to be a perfect goody-two-shoes.”

Eddie stares as you make for the doors back to the courtyard, shrugging off his incredulity- “Eddie. It’s fine. So they’ll think we made out a bit. Who cares? Not me. And plus…” here you trail off and point, mischievous, Eddie’s eye’s following the line to his sock feet- “...you kinda have a no-shoes situation goin’ on. Gotta fix that.”

When you disappear through the doors, Eddie slams a palm to his chest, in awe- then feels the outline of the lighter in his inner pocket. With a practiced twist, he has it out and lit in a second, holding the flame to the wick of a votive candle.

“I don’t know how these candles work, exactly, or if atheists are allowed to…” Eddie clears his throat, glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re still out of earshot, then whispers above the flickering light: “Please let this be real life and not just some high-fueled fantasy because this is kind of huge for me. Okay thanks. Amen, or whatever.”

Eddie blows out the candle like it’s a birthday wish then hurries to catch up with you, sock feet silent against the wood floor as he calls out your name- “Slow down and have a heart, babe, I’ve got no grip!”

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Second Chances

Written for @steddieangstyaugust challenge, day 1.

The world was dying. Not just Hawkins, but the whole world, invaded by the creatures of the Upside Down, the particles that made people sick, killed crops, infected water...if it wasn't the end, then it was damn close.

Steve often thought about the moment everything went to shit. Even when Barb died, when Bob died, when the whole mall burned down, there was at least a shred of hope. Even when Chrissy got lifted in the air and her limbs broke like an unwanted doll, there was a plan, something to do. A chance to make things right for the rest of them. It wasn't difficult to pinpoint the point of no return - Eddie dying.

Here was the thing. Steve didn't really believe in time travel, and he was way too high on the Russian truth serum to even consider what it would entail if it ever proved to be true.

Lo and behold, the Hawkins lab of 1990, infected by the creeping decay of the Upside Down, made it possible. Steve found himself transported back to the day of their failed mission to kill Henry. But not just normally transported - inserted into the mind of his younger self, one that wasn't scarred, limping, and on the verge of giving up. And that was great. Steve thrived when he had something to do, and keeping Eddie alive was something to do.

He didn't really care about his real time. If erasing his present meant saving Murray from getting torn in half, Jonathan and Nancy nearly bleeding out, Robin losing her eyesight, and always seeing Dustin's blank, hopeless stare, well. That was fine. He hated to see people he loved suffer. Hence the operation "Save Munson from his heroic awakening and keeping that stupid walkman intact."

It should have been easy. He prepared everyone. He told Eddie what would happen. He instructed Lucas and Erica to ensure Max lived too. He explained that Eddie wouldn't make a difference, but Dustin would mourn him forever and never recover. Eddie nodded, agreed.

Max was saved.

And Eddie got fucking killed again.

Steve got snapped back to the portal in his present with angry tears still in his eyes. "Oh no, you don't!" he muttered and dove in again. The combined mission of "save Max and Eddie" was now just "make Eddie stop dying."

He tried sending Eddie to the Creel house in his place. Explained again, with more detail. But did that rocker wannabe asshole listen? No! The first rustle of demobat wings and he was back, being torn to shreds.

No. That wouldn't do. Again.

Dustin had tried explaining time loops to Steve, but even in his limited understanding, he didn't consider this one. He wasn't trapped anywhere, fucking Eddie Munson was trapped there with him, in a repeated self-worth session that went "self-destruction is a no-no."

Still, he kept dying. And Steve kept trying. No one was going to out-stubborn Steve Harrington.

And finally, one miraculous day, it worked out. Eddie didn't die, Steve did. He felt the familiar "whoosh" of being dragged to his real time, terrified but excited to see what awaited him after, and then...

Then he was back at their makeshift camp in March 1986.

Steve didn't understand. He was staring at the all too familiar scene when a calloused hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him away. "A word, your majesty."

"Munson, what the-!"

It was Eddie, of course. He'd seen him so many times, talked to him so often, learned about his life, his childhood, his love for Wayne...but there was something different this time. Eddie's eyes seemed much older.

"I know what you're trying to do here, Harrington, and it isn't happening, hear me?" he hissed, and Steve finally understood what seemed so off.  Eddie always looked scared, no matter which attempt, no matter Steve's words or actions. But now, Eddie Munson seemed determined. Angry.

Steve shook off his hand. "What do you mean not happening, Munson?" he whispered, fighting for the last shred of self-control. "Saving the future, that isn't happening? Huh?"

Suddenly, his head snapped back. It took him a good moment to understand that Eddie hit him. "Is that what you call it?!" Eddie hissed back, then snuck a quick glance at the rest of their group. Fortunately no one noticed yet. "Do you even know what you did, Harrington? You fucking died. And everything went to shit."

Glaring at Eddie, Steve rubbed at his sore cheek. "You want to talk about things going to shit?! Do you even know what happens after you die?! People get hurt. People lose hope. And Dustin has never recovered, so there! You have to stay alive no matter what."

Eddie threw his head back and laughed, but it had no joy in it. "Oh really. Well, have you spared a single thought about how he feels, knowing you died to fix the past? How Robin feels?! Do you think that everyone is alive in the future you have so graciously created?! No, Steven. Things are shit and can't be unshitted."

That gave Steve a pause. "Wait.  What do you mean, everyone isn't alive? Who died?"

Eddie scowled at him and crossed his arms. "I'm not telling you. Let's just agree that the future when I'm dead is the better one. Deal?"

"No fucking deal." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning at the forest ground. "What the hell, man. This was supposed to fix things! Even with Max alive, it's still the same?"

"Yep. Not just the same. Worse. I don't know how to explain it, but...they just need you. Without you, it doesn't work."

"Well, without you it doesn't work either!" Steve spat back. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Eddie shrugged. "I don't know. If things go to shit, the portal will activate anyway, right? So one of us will make it there, if at least one of us lives. So how about we both try to live this time?"

Sighing, Steve nodded. "I've tried everything else, so we might as well. As long as you stop sabotaging my future fixing or whatever by dying."

Eddie grinned and offered Steve his hand, knuckles still red from punching Steve. "Shake on it. No pointless heroisms!"

"If you can keep your word, I'll keep mine, Munson."

...

It wasn't on their first try, not even on the tenth or twentieth. One of them would always found themselves at the portal, jump in, repeat.

And then, by pure chance and a truck load of luck...they lived.

Well, their younger selves did.

Steve sat down on the grimy dead grass of the Upside Down, his limbs heavy. "I think we did it," he told Eddie as he landed next to him. "Something changed."

"Yep. I think..." Eddie trailed off, his voice quieter, weaker. "I think we avoided our futures. Which both sucked, by the way. But that also means..."

"It means we don't exist either," nodded Steve. "I thought so. We'll be gone soon, I guess." He leaned against Eddie, slumping against his shoulder. "It was an honor saving the world with you, Munson."

Eddie laid his head over Steve's nodding. "Likewise, Harrington. I'm kinda bummed we won't see the new future. But I sure hope it's a better one."

Closing their eyes, they let the time take its course.

...

In the new 1990, Eddie Munson woke up next to his boyfriend, Steve Harrington. It was the favorite part of his week, the one free day they shared, when they could cuddle and trade lazy kisses. Eddie was a hedonist by nature, and while he did his best to understand Steve's morning runs, he managed to persuade him that after saving the world, they deserved the one peaceful day only for themselves.

Steve was quiet that morning, and Eddie, always the inquisitive one, had to ask. "What's on your mind, love?"

"I just keep thinking about...you know. That day in March," whispered Steve, running his fingers through Eddie's hair. "I still don't remember it. You don't. But everyone else does. I'm just wondering if it's just a coincidence, that we blanked out and everything went just right."

Eddie smiled at him, but his eyes were serious. "I try not to think about it much," he admitted. "I don't want to jinx it, what we have. I won't look the gift dragon in the mouth. I'd like to think we were possessed by a divine inspiration or something."

Steve snorted and pulled him closer. "What, like angels?"

"Sure. We were possessed by our guardian angels and they made sure we'd survive, fix the world...and have this. Us."

Laughing, Steve pulled Eddie into a kiss. "I'll take it. Guardian angels, wherever you are and if you even exist...thank you."

Eddie snuggled closer and nodded into Steve's hair. "Thank you for everything."

[psychoforanime]

Y/n *gives a speech before the start of a mission* : The goal is to go home alive with all of your limbs intact. Your safety means more to me than the outcome of this mission. After all a dead you won't be killing any curses.

Inumaki, Yuji, megumi, panda, Maki, nobara being serious: Understood!

Y/n: Second, and most importantly .... The person with the least kills buying the most kills dinner! *Start running*

Everyone: Cheater!

[wifetomegatron]

one hundred and one nights (overlord/reader)

summary : reader gets abducted by overlord. he has an infatuation. pairing : overlord (idw) / afab! reader fandom : transformers idw continuity, more than meets the eye rating : e for explicit and mild descriptions of gore & dubious consent, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, references to human disembodiment, human!reader, smut, sticky sexual interfacing tags : a lot of references to fairytail / folklore, mostly one-hundred and one nights & this goyard painting.

I. You've heard stories about him. Luna two, Garrus-nine, Hell's point. Albeit not from Swerve, or Chromedome, or Rodimus — that would be ridiculous. Impossible, even, when his name is already non-existent in the space of a ship big enough to fit thousands of Cybertornians. Not even a whisper, as if people were afraid that a slip of his name would be mistaken for a prayer and he would come to life, emerging from the shadowy corners of the Lost Light. Optics, sickly artificial red as they burn holes through the veil. But not even Primus would be as cruel as to materialize Overlord here. At least, you had hoped.

Only several nights before were you and Ratchet discussing him. The doctor knew you deserved an explanation for what transgressed over the weekend with Fort Max, Whirl, and Rung. On who he was, what he has done, and what he will continue to do if his spark wasn't sealed in a white vacuum — serpentine green drowning in nothing. The silence stretched for what felt like years, minutes solidifying themselves midair to bake the air thick. And your mouth was dry, face drained of its color. You didn't ask further, choosing to retreat into your room, where you made the last-minute decision to sleep with the lights on.

It was an irrational fear, you thought. To be afraid of someone light years away, deconstructed and stuffed in a box.

And yet here you are, trapped inside a prison chamber with him — limbs suspended, mouth curled into a grin.

II. It was a stupid accident. A stupid, preventable accident that could have been avoided if everyone had just sat down and listened to the noises Red Alert had been talking about. Their audials would have picked up the voices, the whispers, traveling through a crack big enough for you to slip into. Down the rabbit hole, you fell very slowly before hitting your shoulders square against the crown of Overlord’s head. Slipping ungracefully down an arm, and into the palm of his chained hand. You should have never taken directions from Whirl, because God knows how long it’ll take for the crew members to realize you were gone. And how many seconds left do you have to live, considering that you had conveniently fallen into his grip? A curse. A gift.

“What’s this?” He asked aloud. A dragon waking from his slumber, voice heavy as they echo throughout metal walls, “ Hm. They brought me a plaything.”

You couldn’t speak. Stunned mute as your head barely manages to recover from the impact. The chains rattled slightly, and he squeezed you — yet you were still intact. Surprisingly whole, save not for a few bruises. He says it’s because he’s bored. And that there’s no fun in having you bleed all over when he can’t clean himself up after.

He demanded you to speak and so you did, finding courage in your voice. Yet it sounded so tiny compared to his. And Overlord reveled in this. The more you tried to prove you weren’t afraid the more he’d tighten his grip, horrified to know that this level of self-restraint had (most likely) earned you a broken rib. You wonder what would happen if he had less motivation to keep you alive.

So you became Scheherazade and spoke softly in between trembling breaths. The boiling temperature inside this circular prison may very well be the Sahara, and if you flutter your eyes shut you can hear the sand dunes sing with the wind. And you lay in a dimly lit room with your new husband, spinning him a story so that he won’t plunge his blade past your sternum — the tip of his silver knife shimmering under firelight as they nick your pulse point. Overlord was your Shahryār, yet you wondered if he was just as curious as the prince or if he was too clever to be outwitted by a story. Most likely the latter. Yet maybe he’s just willing to play along, knowing that he will always be the cat, and never the bird. That there’s only one ending — for he has robbed you of your sunrise and conquered all your dusks— so might as well make it count.

III. But maybe Overlord should’ve killed you. He should’ve snapped you in half, and if the sight would have delighted him into a good mood, it would even be painless, quick. Yet instead, he decided that you were worth more than that. This cat wanted to play with his food. Wanted to hear it sing. And so he performed a massacre and took you with him.

At least it spared Chromedome the pain of having Rewind aboard the compartment with Overlord. Instead, he had you. And ever since then you've been drifting, deeper and deeper into darkness. Swallowed by the void of space, where nothing seems to glow brighter than his optics.

IV. You continued telling him stories. It became the only thing you knew how to do, rather than the only thing that kept you alive. You were now at an abandoned spaceport, where your captor sought temporary refuge. It conveniently hovered above the organic civilization living below on Saturn. He jokes about colonizing them, yet you didn't laugh, quietly staring at the man Overlord just squished under his foot. He must've been a routine worker sent to check the premises. He could have alerted the planet below. And could've called for help.

Bile was rising into the back of your throat.

Maybe he came with a friend. Or maybe Overlord had their way with them already. As you silently wept, you turned the other way — opting to blankly stare past the window. You can see his reflection approaching, the metal beneath you tremble with each step. 

" What did I say about your crying?" He crooned, a digit forcefully dragging your chin upwards. You tried to be defiant, to puff out your cheeks and stop your lips from trembling. Yet there was blood on his armor, sprayed across his face. And now there were some on your cheek, wet and sticky, enough to make the tears fall faster.

Then, amid the silence that has crowded the room, between the background hums and noises coming from the machine arose the subtle, clicking noise of a cooling fan. He pushed the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip, the red shade of his optics burning into a deep shade of garnet. 

" Look at me when you cry," He commanded, " I want to see it."

V. You told him a story of the Roman titan who devoured his sons one by one — afraid they’d overthrow him. Eat or be eaten, was that what Megatron thought when he installed a killswitch in his head? You hoped this would flatter him. It did. A little too much.  

VI. You usually don't talk when he's inside of you. When his spike is stretching you almost too painfully, you never make conversation, it is always the sound of your shallow breathing and his indulgent moaning, mingling together in the air. He didn't force you, no. A part of you had wanted this. Out of sheer fear or stress, you're not sure.

Either way, it's safe to say that Overlord doesn't want you dead anytime soon. Yet he's starting to get bored. Or rather, tired, of wanting. Of fighting this internal disgust in himself for ever thinking of having you like this: underneath him, writhing and struggling to have him all the way to the hilt. He has always been more glutton than prideful. And so here you two were, with his mass displaced yet hands still big enough to cover the expanse of your back — thumbs draped against your nipples. Squeezing, circling. His optics leered at the hickeys and bruises loitering your skin. He has a fascination with how they turn purple and bleed red, sometimes blooming into blue before fading. You tell him as long as he's gentle enough not to break anything, he's more than welcome to have you like this. 

As insatiable as he is, that was enough for him.

" If I had known...organics were this pliant. I would have gotten myself a plaything eons ago."

He roughly snapped his hips upwards, dragging you against the berth. 

" Sing for me."

Nothing made sense anymore. Not when he has you by the talons like a wild animal, hunched over to devour its prey. Atoms would condense and cluster and sink onto your skin, crowding you with heat from the brutal pace he's setting. You're afraid he'd snap your hip as he hikes up your right leg. Angling you, using you, to his pleasure. And there is pleasure out of this for you too, molten liquid tightening around your abdomen. So you indulge him. He likes seeing you cry, and so you did. Begging, whining — which only causes him to hold you closer to his chassis. The thrum of his spark against you is loud enough to send you into a headache.  

It's too much. You wanted to say. But you know it's futile. So as you reached your high — spent and overstimulated from this newfound obsession of his — you could do nothing but brace yourself for the rush of trans fluid spilling down your legs. Your cunt, sore and aching as he finally pulls away.

He says you're funner this way. That's the closest thing you'll get to a sunrise.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Dehya and Candace's S/O always getting into insane situations

damn it my window's broken

Dehya is completely baffled how her S/O is even alive.

Throughout her life, she knew one simple fact. The desert was an unforgiving place.

She now was convinced the desert actively seeked out the death of S/O.

S/O one time went near a body of water she and the other mercs had just secured. They just wanted a quick refill on their bottle, to which Dehya had no objections. It was then S/O noticed a strange chest in the water.

(S/O) "...Why is there a floating red ring around this chest?"

(Dehya) "Alright. We should get ready to move in a few minutes-"

(S/O) "D-DEHYA?!"

(Dehya) "Hm? What's u-"

A Ruin Skywatch a group of Hilichurls, Vultures, hostile Eremites, and a particularly nasty bunch of tumbleweeds threw themselves at S/O.

(Dehya) "Okay, WHAT?!"

Having S/O around was both a good luck charm, yet a terrible omen. They'd always find great riches and treasures lying around, but at the same time they'd always find every group of enemies possible surrounding it.

It was honestly a miracle that no casualty has ever been reported, much less S/O keeping their limbs intact.

(Dehya) "Jeez, everyone still alive?"

(Merc) "S-Somehow...!"

Dehya turned to S/O, laughing in utter disbelief.

(Dehya) "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actively shouting your location to every single thing in the desert, S/O."

(S/O) "T-They came out of nowhere, I swear! All I did was look at the chest in the water!"

Insanity, thy name is S/O.

Candace has no grievances against S/O. They had always been a curious and innocent person, a quality that was endearing.

That being said, their uncanny ability to find trouble was not.

Candace always leapt in to save them, but the situations she found herself leaping into was...For lack of a better word, stupid.

S/O wanted to examine a particularly strange shaped cactus, and since it was near the village, Candace didn't mind.

She watched as they accidentally fell onto the sand, knocking a stick to the cactus, revealing it to be a lever that turned on, and awoke a sleeping Ruin Earthguard.

Which then led into a group of treasure hoarders directly underneath it being alerted and attacking.

Which then led to the Traveler and Paimon, whom she wasn't even aware was at the village, accidentally bring a Ruin Hunter.

After the most explosive battle that month and thanking the Traveler and Paimon, she carried S/O in her arms back to the safety of Aaru Village.

(S/O) "I-I'm so sorry!"

(Candace) "Do not apologize. There was no way for you to know that was there."

She sighs as she gives them a hug, but then firmly holds their shoulders.

(Candace) "From now on, you will stay close to me, okay? I will protect you."

She still has no idea how S/O even manages to find these things, but at least any potential threat is taken care of thanks to them.

Though she was starting to believe some force was at play because she had investigated the exact areas S/O had accidentally triggered the attack, and found literally nothing.

[magixfairyix]

Trix & OC Core Incorrect Quotes 01

After S.S.S. (as in far after) Iorda is consensually kidnapped into the coven as they'd (and the Winx) been friends for four years at this point, and Iorda had gone fully from fairy to a witch a year prior.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Darcy: It was in the third year when you and Icy were fighting, cue crow's dust, and she said 'Now, what am I going to do with you.' Right? >:)

Icy: hOw CaN YoU qUotE tHat?

Darcy: I have a book of your homosexual quotes with Bloom. I had a guess you'd bang/makeout with each other at some point and I decided to keep a book so when you two did relieve the sexual tension I could chuck it at you

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Hey um... I might've fucked up

Icy: What did you do? Is everyone alive?

Stormy: Technically we both fucked up so...

Darcy: 'Fucked up' by whose standards?

Iorda: 'Fucked up' as in you three will likely approve

Darcy: Alright spill the tea

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: It was his fault. He should've been grateful it was Iorda because we all know if Darcy and I was there he wouldn't have been able to walk out of there with his limbs intact

Iorda: Yeah that's what we call illegal Icy

Darcy: BSH fucking with someone's pain reflex is illegal

Iorda: OH FUCK OH SHIT PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE JOKING

Icy: They are don't worry. Darcy stop scaring the child

Iorda: Darcy, fuck you. I thought I just did something illegal

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Since Darcy and I are immune to poison does that mean we can't get intoxicated to death, stung to death by poisonous animals, or get poisoned from drinking human blood?

Icy: Iorda, the hell

Darcy: Eh I don't think human blood is poisonous it just fucks with your body. Also the first it's not necessarily poison. The second though...

Stormy: One, why did you assume we would know?

Iorda: Eh ya'll tried to kill me via poison I thought you'd know

Stormy: Nuff said. Secondly, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Iorda: A lot of shit

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Yeah turns out it wasn't a daemon, it was Death

Stormy: ... excuse

Iorda: Don't worry I'm alive. Wait... does this add a ninth time considering I 'interacted with death?'

Stormy: ... yeah no shit you're alive. You're talking to us

Iorda: For all you know I could be possessed sthu

Icy: Darcy! You're girlfriend is going fucking insane and please tell me you didn't know that DEATH is real!

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: ... You scare me

Stormy: Oh yay mom is back

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Darcy: ICY WE JUST FOUND SOMETHING OUT!

Iorda: Acually get your ass on here this is revolutionary!

Darcy: ICYYYYYYY

Icy: What is revolutionary and what did you two do?

Iorda: Your ice doesn't melt in blood! ^^

Icy: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU TWO DO?!

Darcy: Remember when Iorda got stabbed and got a free chiropractic appointment?

Iorda: ... shit my back issues actually disappeared for two years after that so not far off from the truth

Darcy: ... not even gonna question that, but anyway

Stormy: Wait wait wait, what happened after the stabbing?

Icy: Darcy what did you do? (five years too late)

Iorda: You didn't tell them? DARCY THE HELL

Darcy: Damn. Well after that happened a bad migraine hit from the emotion feeling thing so I forgot, so, yeah I didn't tell them. Oops

Iorda: You didn't tell them you broke every bone in my body? Priorities

Stormy: WAIT WHAT DID YOU DO

Icy: YOU DID THAT AND YET SHE DIDN'T DIE!? (Respectfully)

Darcy: I thought she would

Iorda: Cackling rn holy shit

Stormy: And you did that when you could feel her emotions?! Darcy?!

Darcy That's why I got a hell of a migraine and nausea after. Felt like shit

Iorda: yOu felt like shit?? I was dYinG 

Darcy: Fair, you win

Icy: ... I told you to like, kill her mind or something not bReAk hEr bOnEs

Darcy: Yeah I know I'm a perfectionist ;)

Stormy: Musa is laughing her ass off at this conversation

Iorda: Tell them that they are a traitor

Stormy: Done, they flipped you off. And by the way, I just remembered that were used to compare you to a cockroach because of your inability to die

Icy: Perfectionist my ass. You didn't even finish the job. This is why I'm the coven leader because you all are insane

Iorda: It's not their fault I'm a badass cockroach

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: That's also not likely. That'd only happen if Iorda didn't get her blood and magic energy cleansed 

Iorda: .. do what?

Icy: Get your blood and energy cleansed. You know, to get all the curses and whatnot out of your body so you can use your magic properly. Otherwise, you could have difficulty using certain parts of your magic, sleeping, also a sense of paranoia and unease

Darcy: Iorda please tell me you're just you and that you did get your blood and energy cleansed for the love of-

Iorda: And where do you find this information? Just asking~ 

Stormy: They teach us this second year of Cloud Tower, common knowledge. Though it's not taught to faries because it's not relevant and... You didn't go to CT second year, did you?

Icy: Iorda answer

Iorda: ... so tHaTs why I'm shit at psychic magic

Darcy: GET YOUR ASS TO ZENOTHE RIGHT THIS SECOND

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Stormy: So we can't speak because otherwise the Ariste will hear us. Only communication is through this chat while we search for potion ingredients

Iorda: The what now?

Stormy: Creatures that'll eat our skin if we make noise

Iorda: TF DID YOU BRING ME FOR

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: FUCK YOU STORMY AND YOUR DAMN HEELS IF I DIE IT'S NINE FOR NINE AND I DON'T HAVE ANYMORE FUCKING LIVES LEFT!

Stormy: JUST RUN!

Iorda: I'M GONNA GET MY SKIN EATEN FUUUUKKKKKK. FUCK YOU I CAN SEE WHY ICY IS THE IMPULSE CONTROL OF YOU THREE!

Stormy: RUN BITCH WE'RE ALMOST AT ALFEA

Iorda: WHY WOULD YOU CHOSE TO WEAR HEELS IN A SWAMP YOU'RE WORSE THAN STELLA!

Stormy: SO I COULD BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ANYTHING THAT TRIES TO KILL US!

Iorda: THEN BY ALL MEANS BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THE ARISTE

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

[danmeiconfession]

Ik I'm late but Reply to: https://www.tumblr.com/danmeiconfession/739733352626749441/why-are-we-fighting-over-who-in-svsss-is-morally

Anon, it isn't about who rly is morally right in svsss. It's about how you stan your fav who is immoral. But hate on SJ, who only did 1 thing wrong; which is singling out LBH, might I add a PROTAGONIST, and abuse him. Cos if LBH wasn't a protag, no one would've care if he abused him or not. Cos I've some examples in svsss who did abuse children but got away with it.

SY is a lazy, 2nd Generation young master, neet and an internet hater. He bullied SQH to change his original plot, then had the audacity to hate on it. After transmigrating, his only plan was to survive, not to change LBM or the plot. He was okay if LBM DID turn out as a tyrant, as long as he is alive with his LIMBS INTACT. Had 3 yrs to prepare for LBM's abyss arc and stopping LBM's blackening fully. But instead, he DID NTH but to lazy around the Peak, coddling and spoiling LBM, giving him an assurance that demonic cultivation is okay in CQMS and when the time came, accused LBM of being a demon and pushed him in abyss after stabbing him. LBM wouldn't have turned out the way he did, if SY didn't pull that shit. He isn't a good teacher. He emotionally abused QJP disciples, abandoning them, getting irritated if anyone starts crying but coddles LBM if he did the same. He had also abused BZP disciples indirectly, using LQG to beat up his disciples ONLY COS they were bullying LBM, not any other QJP disciple. He still continued to abuse SQH, a fellow transmigrator. He is also a groomer, might I add, he was grooming LBM into a tyrant, who'll listen to him, tho he didn't know he was unintentionally grooming LBM sexually as well. And his biggest crime is till the end he is impersonating someone else, ik he didn't have a choice but he could've come clean that he isn't who they all think he is.

LBM is an obsessive freak, manipulating SY into having his way, he tortured SY just cos he 'thought' he got rejected by his shizun. Beat up SHL, used some innocent cultivators to satiate XM's hunger, tried to SA SY and last but not the least, tried to merge the 3 realms and killing n no. of innocent ppl with it.

Okay, LBG makes my blood boil, he is the worst out of all the immoral Gays out there. He is everything SJ was accused for! He is a mass murderer. He did genocide, he is behind the destruction on 3 realms, killing so many innocent humans and cultivators alike. He is a rapist, raping innocent women in 2 digits. He is fucking abuser himself! He abused and tortured SJ for years. Turned him into a human-stick! Just bcos he couldn't handle some whipping, which was a simple form of punishment in ancient China. He wasn't even abused to the extend SJ did, but had the audacity to cry about it to everyone, about how horrible his shizun is. He had also tortured SY and tried to rape him. And had to look pitiful when SY rejected him. Only cos SY was a nicer version of his shizun.

LQG may try to be a righteous man, but trust me he isn't. No righteous man will belittle anyone. He looked down upon sex workers. Belittled SJ, who he knew nth about. Abusing his own disciples, abandoning them whenever he felt like it. In Jinlan city arc he kidnapped civilians so MQF could experiment on them. Pls don't tell me it is morally right to you.

YQY's biggest crime is his silence. He was silent when PLs were accusing SJ and spreading rumours about him, when he knew about SJ. He never stopped those rumors from spreading. He never stopped the PLs to shit on SJ. He kept his silence. He was silent when SJ warned him about SQH. He NEVER listened to SJ, whenever he tried to warn him about smth and then SJ had to deal with the outcome. He was silent when LBG came to accuse SJ of his crimes. He NEVER opened his mouth. He never asked his martial siblings to get along with SJ, but expected that from SJ. He knew his brother but still believed the crimes against him.

SQH, og or airplane doesn't matter, is a mass murderer. He killed innocent young cultivators in IAC. He was conspiring with demons against his own kind! The only difference between them is, airplane was a little bit kind. Cos he didn't unleashed, dangerous and deadly monsters. He tried to help SJ when LQG accused him of backstabbing or gave him an advice for future Lingxi Caves event. He isn't rly that kind either. PIDW ended the way it did cos he got corrupt. He started licking his benefactors feet. Og did everything on his own volition. He never cared for anyone in this world.

MBJ, just like SQH, is a mass murderer. He is the mastermind behind the demon invasion in IAC, killing innocent young cultivators. He also abused SQH constantly.

Looking at your fav none of them are morally right but when it comes to staning one of them only SJ gets the backlash and says, "Stop staning SJ, stan SY he is kinder version of SQQ," "uwu LBH/LBM/LBG is a traumatized little meowmeow. He ended up like this cos he was abused in the past," "YQY is a traumatized little guy, he scared to loose everything in his life!" "SQH is forced to do everything!" And last, "LQG is a righteous cultivator, he'll never do anything wrong!"

.

[staar5384]

A Death Too Soon pt.2

pt.1 levi ackerman x gn!reader, they/them pronouns, a lil comfort to fix that hurt from pt.1 it only took me 3 months to make a pt.2

It had taken all of Levi’s energy to take down the Beast Titan and yet he couldn’t finish him off. He was whisked away by some Titan on all fours. He was tempted to go after it, but when he scanned the many bodies that littered the ground, he couldn’t seem to find yours. He took that as a sign that maybe, by some miracle, you were alive. He was torn between fulfilling his promise and saving the person he treasured most. But it was Erwin’s fault you were out there, it was his force that dragged you into that death march. Loyalties be damned, he rushed onto the field. It was a sorry sight; the mangled bodies of the young cadets weren’t the most pleasant sight, not by a long shot, but he was preserved. He stepped over corpses, limbs, and whatever was left of the Scouts he once knew. Not a single sign of you. The stench of death filled the air, sending chills down his spine. He wondered what became of the Beast Titan and it’s assistant once they escaped over the wall. He wondered if they were taken down by another Scout, or better yet Eren. As Levi was about to give up hope, he noticed a body far in the corner. It was all too familiar. The same hair, the same frame. It was you. He rushed over, his legs burning as he ran. He collapsed at your side and immediately went for a pulse. He pressed his fingers against the cold skin on your neck and there it was, his sign of life. He let out a deep sigh of relief, pressing his head against your back. Clearly, you weren’t in the worse shape. He lifted your body up and wrapped your arms around him. Despite his exhaustion and throbbing muscles, he managed to carry you towards the wall. He examined your wounds as he went, trying to get a feel for how bad they were. Blood stained all down your white shirt, but most of the rest of your body seemed to be intact. Levi was determined to make sure you survived. It was a struggle, but he made it over the wall with your body. He clung onto you as he landed on top of it. He stared out at the city that had been completely decimated. On a roof below them was a sobbing Eren who was bent over an unrecognizable corpse. Levi approached the boy, still holding you tightly in his arms, “Eren, what’s going on?” He asked. “I-It’s Armin!” How Eren could tell was beyond him. The body was completely charred and not a single feature remained. “Levi, you have to use the serum on him to bring him back! He can eat Bertholdt!” He pointed to the limbless body next to them where an unconscious Bertholdt sat. Levi sighed. He didn’t have time for this, he needed to make sure you were okay, “Fine. Take them to the top of the wall for medical treatment. I’ll take care of Armin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What should have taken him a minute at most turned into a loud and heated argument over whether or not he chose Erwin or Armin. His gut told him Erwin, but the Commander had other plans, giving up his life subconsciously to allow Armin to live. So Levi now sat atop the wall next to your unconscious body while he waited for you to wake up. His hand rested on yours, his thumb tracing shapes into your palm. Mostly everyone was keeping to themselves, tending to their wounds, and mourning the heavy losses they had suffered. The outskirts of Shiganshina was now nothing more than a graveyard for the fallen. First, your mind awoke. You were thinking, thinking how badly you wanted to live, how badly you wanted to see Levi one last time. Then your body moved. It was the slightest movement, but it was enough to trigger the same response everywhere. Your fingers wiggled, your eyes fluttered open. You hissed when the light entered your view. It was so damn bright. Levi took notice of the noise, bending his neck to stare at you, “You’re alive?” His eyes were wide with shock. It took you a moment to clear your head, to fully be able to process what was happened. You shrugged, as you were entirely unsure what was happening. There was the faintest smile on Levi’s lips, “I’m glad you’re okay.” You couldn’t seem to speak, but you noticed his hand on yours, so you gave him a gentle squeeze in response. Levi’s face flushed pink and he instinctively turned away. You smiled slightly, staring at the sky above you. It was so beautiful and clear. You let out a deep breath, just holding onto Levi’s hand. Levi also seemed content with his hand in yours. The skin to skin contact gave him comfort, confirmation you were okay and you were here. With him.

taglist~ @im-a-killer-queen

[five-rivers]

Cult Division 4

Part of this series.

“Vlad,” said Maddie.  

“Maddie,” purred Vlad.  “What brings you here today?”

Maddie repressed the desire to curl her lip.  “I am informing you that we’re exhuming Phantom’s body, following the activities of the unidentified cultists last night.”

“Oh, but, Maddie, only family members can do that.  And unless you and Phantom are suddenly family members…”

“Don’t give me that,” said Maddie.  “I.  Know.”

Vlad’s expression soured.  “Yes.  Quite,” he said flatly.  “I am aware.  However, unless you want to make your relationship with the boy public, there’s nothing I can do about the law.”

Maddie, having anticipated this, slammed a piece of paper down on the desk.  “You won’t have to,” she said.  “The law is very much on my side for this one.  Municipal Ordinance 10776.  Investigative professionals registered with the city can request that any grave be exhumed.”

(Investigative professionals here meaning ghost hunters.  Not everyone had the kind of open-mindedness as the average Amity Parker, and although a ordinance against summoning ghosts could be laughed off, things like this tended to be taken a little more seriously.)

“Request,” stressed Vlad.  “Requests, by their nature, are not automatically granted.”

“Maybe,” said Maddie.  “But when word gets around about the cultists, and it will, people will start asking why we aren’t investigating.”

“Is there even anything to investigate?” asked Vlad, putting on his fake innocent act again.  “Goodness, I thought the cultists left the memorial intact and undisturbed.  Are you saying I was misinformed?  Or has something happened to poor Daniel?  I’m sorry, to Phantom?  It really is fascinating that they both have the same first name.”

They glared at each other over the mayoral desk.  

“If I have to,” said Maddie, “I can always reveal you.”

“And I’ll deny everything, or reveal Phantom.”

“Not your ghost half,” said Maddie.  “Your continued sexual harassment.  There might not be enough of it to get you arrested, but there’s certainly enough for some interesting headlines.”

(She could also just wait for the police to get a warrant from a judge, but figuring out how to word it without saying anything about ghosts, cultists, or other things that would make outsiders overly curious took time.)

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.  Jack would be upset, but if it's for Danny, I think he’ll get over it.”

“Very well,” said Vlad, who looked like he’d swallowed a full box of spiders.  “I will approve your request.”

“Thank you,” said Maddie.  “I–”  Her phone went off.  Relishing the chance to be rude to Vlad, she answered it.  “Hello?”

.

“Kidnapped?” Maddie Fenton repeated again.  “How?”

“Er,” said Collins, drumming his fingers on the wheel of his car.  This was not the best place to have this conversation, but there weren’t a lot of better options, so…  “The normal way, I suppose.  Someone broke into the house and took him.”

“Through Jack?”

“That’s something we’re investigating.”  Jack Fenton had been found passed out near the front door, and was one of the reasons they’d been called in.  Apparently, bright orange hazmat was visible.  Who would have thought.

“But,” said Maddie, “you think Danny’s okay?”

‘Okay’ was probably an overstatement.  An overstatement at best.  They hadn’t found any major organs or limbs strewn around the house, but there were signs of a struggle, and kidnapping victims were, as a rule, never okay.  

Also… Collins made the decision to not mention the bloody backpack.  Some things mothers (and potential suspects) were better off not knowing.  He was fairly certain it wasn’t Danny’s blood on the bag, anyway.  He almost felt bad for whoever kidnapped him.  

Almost.

Whoever those people were, he doubted they were aware of even a tenth of what Danny did for Amity Park.  

“At this point, he is most likely still…” he hesitated slightly before the next word, “alive.”  He wasn’t convinced anything could kill Danny.  The kid seemed invulnerable, for all intents and purposes, and even as a human, he could do incredible things.

Maddie made a strangled noise on the other side of the line.  

“We’d like you to come down to the station,” continued Collins.  “Keep your phone on and with you.  It’s possible you’ll be contacted for ransom.”  Possible, but highly unlikely.  The Fentons were well-off, but not to this degree.  

“I don’t have time,” said Maddie.  “I have to look.”

“We’re looking.”

“You aren’t ghost hunters.  It’s almost certainly a ghost that took him.”

“There’s reason to believe that is not the case.  Mrs. Fenton.  Maddie.  It’s possible that you saw or heard something important before you left or earlier this week.”

Maddie was quiet on the other side of the line.  “You think I had something to do with this?” she asked, a thread of danger running through her words.  

“Not as such, no.  This is just– this is just procedure.  We need to look into everyone.  We’re talking to Jack, too.”

“Is that why you think it was humans who did this?”

Again, the reason for that was more the bloodied bag, but, again, he wasn’t talking about that.  “Go to the station and you can ask him yourself.”

“Are you not at the station?”

Crap, what had he said to make her think that?  “That’s–”

“You’re still at Fentonworks, aren’t you?”

“No?” said Collins.  

Maddie hung up on him.  

Great.  She was on her way and she’d be on the warpath.  He hit redial.

“Hello?” said Maddie, in a way that told him that she hadn’t looked at the caller ID and that she was considering what he’d said about ransoms.

“Look, Maddie, I know you were going up to see if you could get permission to exhume the body.  Could we– If you go to the station, we can get that started right away.  We have the equipment ready to go, the medical examiner is ready.  Everything is ready.”

“You–”

“This is a crime scene, Maddie.  You can’t be here.”  

“It’s my house.  And my son.”

“I know, I know.  We care about Danny, too.  But he’s not here.  You can’t help him here.”

There was quiet on the other side of the line.

“Fine.” 

.

“So,” said Paterson.  “You went to the door and… what, again?”

“I already told him,” said Jack, who was sitting on the back of an ambulance, getting poked and prodded by an EMT.  “Can’t he tell you?”

“Sure,” said Paterson, glancing sideways at McGee, “but can you run me through it again?  For reference?  Sometimes, we remember things better the second time around.”

“I went to the door, and started feeling dizzy, but I opened it up - I shouldn’t have done that.  Should have realized that something was wrong.  I opened it up, and there was this duffel bag there.”

“Do you remember anything about the duffel bag?”

“It was taped over in weird places.  Patched.  Uh.  It might have been blue?  Or green?  But after I saw it, I just passed out.  I don’t know what it was about it that made me pass out.”

“Oxygen deprivation,” said the EMT.

“What?”

“Right, you said I wasn’t breathing before, so–”

“Which was caused by oxygen deprivation.  You show all the signs.  Whoever it was that did this must have released a huge amount of nitrogen or something similar into the area immediately in front of your door.”

“I didn’t feel like I couldn’t breathe, though.”

“You wouldn’t.  Our reflex to breathe is triggered by the presence of carbon dioxide, not the absence of oxygen.  Without rescue breaths, you would have died of asphyxiation.”

“That’s a thing?” asked Paterson, scrunching her nose.  

“Yeah,” said Jack.  “You can’t really work as a scientist without at least hearing about it.”

“People have died from it before,” said the EMT.  “You’re probably going to be fine, you were found fast, but you still need to go to the hospital.”

“But I need to find Danny.”

“They wouldn’t have stuck around,” said Paterson.  “We’ve already got everyone looking for Danny.  Amber Alert and everything.”

“Do you think they did the same thing to Danny?  The nitrogen thing?”

“It would have been in the house, yeah,” said the EMT.  

“Okay,” said Paterson, “so we should look for someone who bought a whole lot of nitrogen tanks or something?  What do people even use those for?”

The EMT shrugged.  “Science, I guess.  You ready to go, Mr. Fenton?”

“Alright,” said Jack.  

“Hey, wait,” said McGee, “I’m not done yet–”

“Then you can come talk to him at the hospital,” said the EMT.  “George!  Come over and help me!”

The EMTs packed Jack into the ambulance and drove away.  

McGee stared after it, tapping his foot.  “Do you think these kidnappers were able to revive Danny, or are we going to be looking for a corpse?”

“Don’t say things like that,” said Paterson.  She’d already seen Danny’s corpse once, after all, she didn’t need to see it again.  “It’s bad luck.”

.

Danny woke slowly.  He felt unpleasantly bruised, for one, and for another, the last thing he remembered was getting kidnapped, which was generally not a precursor to happy fun times.  

He peeled open eyes that felt disgustingly bloodshot, and looked around.  There wasn’t much to see.  The room he was in was small, clean, and bare, and he was lying down on a bed.  Someone had even tucked him in.  

Creepy.  Not that kidnapping wasn’t creepy in and of itself, but this was especially creepy.  

He struggled to sit up, and discovered that he’d been wrapped in a kind of improvised straitjacket.  Several layers of blankets were wrapped around him and held in place by belts.  He strained against them, but unfortunately whatever the cult from the other night had done was still holding strong.  No powers for him, not even a little bit.

And Danny didn’t even know why these people had taken him.  

His legs were still free, so, with a little extra maneuvering, he got up and walked around the room.  The one door didn’t even have a handle.  

He was stuck.  

His mouth suddenly even drier than it had been, he swallowed.  He was stuck.  Trapped.  Hadn’t even figured his way out of this frankly embarrassing ‘straightjacket.’  

The door opened, and Danny stumbled back, overbalancing and thumping into the wall.  Severa masked figures walked in.

“Oh, he’s perfect!”

They came in, crowding him.  

“Back off!”  Danny kicked out, but he was at a bad angle, and the first of the mask-wearers was able to get close enough that Danny couldn’t do anything other than try to bite, which didn’t really work if the person you were trying to bite was holding your face.  

“Just perfect.”  They tilted Danny’s head this way and that, and Danny couldn’t pull away.  “Age, of course, is important, but appearance, too.  I hadn’t realized…”  They fell to muttering.  

Danny’s eyes flicked from mask to mask.  They were plain white plastic with the eyes blacked out with some kind of fabric.  Simple, but effective.  Danny didn’t know who these people were.  

“Yes, our sponsor was right.  You’ll do perfectly.  Perfectly.”  They patted Danny’s cheek.  

“Sponsor?”  Danny didn’t want to interact with these people at all, but he needed information.  

“I know you must be so frightened.  We would have tried a more peaceful way, but those ghost hunters…  They would never see reason.”

The other mask-wearers shifted, grumbling.  

“The number of times they have assaulted our lord–  No, no, we had to get you somewhere safe.  After all, you are to be the host for our lord, Phantom.”

Well.  That.  

What?

He stared at the masked person, uncomprehending as they waxed poetic about Phantom’s - his - virtues.  Many of which Danny didn’t have.

“... honor, to be chosen, and an honor, too, to be here to witness.  But, of course, you’ve asked after our sponsor.  He asked to meet with you.”  They ran their hand through Danny’s hair, which was just.  Bad.  “Yes.  We have followed his word for some time, and he has never led us wrong, you know.”

Danny didn’t know.  And he didn’t want to meet this ‘sponsor’ they were talking about.

“He’ll be coming soon,” said the masked person.  “You’ll talk, and then… then we prepare.”

The masked people filed out of the room and closed the door behind them.  Danny futilely tried to open the door, in case they hadn’t closed it properly.  Frustrated, he sat down on the bed.  

Another cult.  A different one, too, if he knew anything about cults, which was not a sentence he’d have expected to say before he became a half ghost.  Worse, not only was it another cult, it was another Phantom cult.  What part of his behavior as Phantom made people think he wanted cults?  

Superman didn’t have to deal with this.  

Superman was fictional.  

Maybe he could use the walls or the edge of the cot to shift the belts around, and from there he could use the buckles to… pick the nonexistent lock on the door.  Right.  Not likely.  Maybe he could do something to - no, the hinges were on the outside.  At least, he could use them as a weapon, probably?  Maybe–

Danny’s ghost sense went off, and he tensed.  He wasn’t ready for a fight, but he was ready to be a pain, assuming this ghost was involved, and make a plea for escape, if they weren’t.

A ghost phased through the door.  

Danny hissed.  

“Plasmius.”

“Hello, little badger.”

[heliads]

everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Seventeen: Returning the Favor

Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.

series spotify playlist

previous / series masterlist / next

Connor Lassiter stares at Death. Death stares back at Connor Lassiter.

Dorian Heartland is not an easy man to look at. Connor doesn’t like doing it, but taking his eyes off of this infernal creator for even one moment could offer Heartland a chance to take Connor’s pupils for his own, so he refuses to budge his gaze even one millimeter.

All this does, though, is to give Connor a good look at everything that makes Heartland so horrifically wrong. He can see in the stiffness of Risa’s posture, the flightiness of her breath, that she’s caught on to who this is too, although by this point that would almost be impossible to avoid. Dorian Heartland is like no other man Connor has ever met before, though that might be because Dorian Heartland is no longer made up of any of his original birth parts, nor the secondary parts that replaced him, nor the ones that swapped him out after that. Connor can’t even begin to fathom what iteration of lungs he must have inside someone else’s ribcage– is the fourth generation of blood pumping through his veins, perhaps? The fifth?

Connor wonders what parts Heartland will take from Connor as some sort of grisly hunting trophy. The eyes, maybe. Everyone likes the eyes. Snatching his heart would be a particularly satisfying touch, too. If Connor wasn’t so disgusted by the idea of harvesting someone else’s bits and pieces to keep himself intact, maybe he, too, could see the allure in holding Heartland’s brain in his head, clenching the pink matter between his knuckles and knowing that someone else’s entire life and soul was in his hands.

Well. His and Roland’s. Connor is no better than this grave robber. Even though the switching out of arms was unintentional, Connor still bears the limb and tattoo of another teenager. Does that make him any closer to Heartland? Will it spare him from Heartland’s punishment? No and no, but it does paint a rather more confusing portrait. It would be easier if Connor were totally blameless, of course, but no one in this galaxy ever is. The same chain that breaks our wrists will help us up one day, and then it will kill our best friend and worst enemy in turn. All Connor can do is hope to stay alive, but even now, that seems like one last possibility that’s slipped out of his reach.

Heartland smiles indulgently, taking in the startled looks on their faces. “Now, now. Don’t give yourselves an aneurysm trying to figure out how I tracked you down. I need all of your brain matter to be as functional as possible. You won’t believe the number of potential buyers who have been contacting me in the hopes of getting a piece from the two of you.”

 “I’m trying extra hard now,” Connor says dryly.

Heartland has the nerve to roll his eyes like a petulant teenager. Connor wonders if that motion is uniquely Dorian, or if it’s from an actual AWOL who’s still not past his rebellious teenager phase even if he’s landed in the body of someone like Heartland. Regardless, the sudden movement makes Heartland’s whole face bulge unevenly as different sections of skin resist tension with varying rates of success, old and young parts making themselves known. For a moment, Connor swears he can see every piece of Heartland for what it is, can map every seam and stitch, and then the man’s face returns to neutral again and the effect is undone.

“Don’t be sulky, Connor, it does you no good.” Heartland admonishes him.

Connor folds his arms across his chest. “Oh, so you’re going to lecture me before you rip off my limbs? How charitable of you.”

“I’m not ripping off your limbs, that would be my expert team of surgeons,” Heartland clarifies. “Besides, ripping is entirely too gory of a description. Distribution is a perfectly reasonable procedure. The galaxy has ensured that it’s completely scientific, with as little pain to the distributes as possible. You simply must get your mind out of the gutter. Speak elegantly or don’t speak at all, Connor. I don’t want that tongue to be corrupted more than necessary.”

Beside him, Risa narrows her eyes at the man. “Was that little flower bed over there produced in the name of elegant speech, or did you just want an excuse for other people to talk about unwinding without putting words in your mouth?”

She jerks her chin towards a display somewhere beyond them. Connor thinks he remembers her coming from that direction when she’d run over to tell him that they had been caught. He wishes fleetingly that he had been closer, that he’d never suggested splitting up at all, that they had just put themselves first like every other soul in the galaxy seems wont to do, but the dreams evaporate in time, leaving him only the stark reality of having been caught in the pointless effort of trying to save lives.

Heartland chuckles, evidently remembering what Risa’s talking about. “Oh yes, the flowers. The last band of upstarts had the same reaction. I love it when we’re all on one page.”

Connor frowns, wondering if some other group of runaway unwinds had made it here before them to be the ‘band of upstarts’ Heartland referred to. He hadn’t seen anyone in the airspace above them when he landed, and certainly Connor would have heard if someone sprung Heartland’s trap a few standard hours ago, but then it occurs to him that Heartland isn’t mentioning events earlier that day at all.

No, Heartland is recollecting the last group of kids who tried to act as heroes for the galaxy. Connor hasn’t heard of any in a while, but even without the Collective’s propensity for propaganda whitewashing everything into blank silence, the last batch of would-be saviors would have been around decades ago. Heartland could be referring to infinite rounds of kids who didn’t want to die, all stretching back for centuries.

How many unwinds have stood in this exact spot? How many generations of children have tried to kill off Heartland or his policies but failed? Connor and Risa are far from the first, nor, judging by the fact that they’ve already been caught, will they be the last. This cycle will go on forever, as surely as a thousand suns rise and set across the galaxy, as certainly as the never ending rotation of fresh organs from the body of a child into the frame of an adult. Teenagers will rise out of obscurity, challenge the notion that the young should die for the wastefulness of the old, and then they will be struck down all because one man has cheated them of their last resource:  time.

Of course Dorian Heartland wins every round. He has the luxury of knowing the full story every time. Heartland knows how the rebellions start, so he can crush them in their infancy. He knows how the last stragglers turn into martyrs, so he can lay expert traps and avoid their attempts to save their friends. Starkey’s little attack may have caught him off-guard, and Connor may have been able to run from him once, but now Heartland has had time to consider their strategies and plan accordingly. Dozens of Connors have tried to make a stand, and Heartland has killed them every time. What is Connor now but one more replacement? Heartland is swapping out another one of his parts:  the rebel, the fighter, the loose end in his plans. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again.

Connor feels his stomach roll, low and heavy. He wants to scream and scream until the sickness leaves his body and goes into Heartland, until Dorian Heartland of old-Earth and always having enough remembers what it’s like to crave survival more than anything else.

Instead, he rocks back and forth on his heels twice, trying to force himself to stay under control. He’s got to stall so he has time to plan. Connor can hear slight rustling on the paths surrounding them. The other park visitors are conspicuously not looking their way, leading him to believe that they’ve been planted here to alert Heartland to their eventual presence without tipping off Connor and Risa that anything was wrong. That means everyone here will try to stop them if they run, plus more soldiers are likely on the way. There’s a clear opening somewhere behind Heartland, a path out of the park and into the surrounding streets, but they’d have to get past Heartland first.

In order to give himself an opportunity to conjure up an escape plan, though, Connor needs what he has always lacked:  more time. He stares at Heartland, and asks, “How did you find us, then? Did you put a tracker in my blood while you had me in your hospital?”

Heartland scoffs. “And risk damaging the product like that? Certainly not. I will admit, you had me worried when you threw yourself from the window, but as it turns out, I didn’t have to worry. You wanted yourself intact as much as I did.”

Risa scowls protectively. “Don’t act as if you cared about his survival. You just want his pieces.”

Heartland turns to her with an affronted stare. Immediately, Connor wants to say something stupid so the man will focus on him instead. Nothing good comes of Heartland’s gaze, Connor can say that for certain.

“Oh, and you care so much more? Risa Megan Ward, abandoned to a State Home when you were a child. You value the Akron AWOL more than I do? Not just because his survival ensures that you’ll end up alive?”

Risa meets his gaze coolly. “You’re wrong,” she says simply. “I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you. Connor trusts me and I trust him.”

Her expression is completely certain, but Connor swears he still sees her relax microscopically when he adds on, “You can’t turn us against each other, Heartland. Save your tricks for someone who cares.”

Heartland just shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many battle-scarred partners in survival will abandon each other for the opportunity to live. It’s worked before.”

Not for us, Connor thinks decisively. Like every other AWOL before him, he believes at once that the two of them will be the first to actually make it work.

Dorian Heartland ignores this, unaware or perhaps simply not caring that yet another round of teenagers believes that they can save themselves. He’s seen it often enough that it probably doesn’t even register. “No, Connor, I couldn’t track you. I simply had to lay a trap. I was going to ransom your friends from the Graveyard so you’d come to me, but you beat me to it.”

Connor realizes he’s referring to the massacre at the harvest colony. “That wasn’t us,” he blurts out before registering belatedly that he probably shouldn’t give away more than Heartland expressly tells him.

Heartland, however, doesn’t seem surprised by this. “Oh, I know. My men arrived perhaps a few standard hours after you left. They checked the security holos and saw both the attack and your shocked reaction. I must admit, however, that I already guessed it wasn’t you. You two didn’t seem the type for tasteless bloodshed.”

“As opposed to the tasteful bloodshed of unwinding?” Connor fires back. He can see Risa eyeing the exits as well. She’s always been good at planning; so long as he keeps Heartland talking, he gives her more chances to save them. If there’s one thing Connor can do, though, it’s talk. This is fine. It has to be.

Heartland sighs. “You must let go of this unnatural fear of yours, Connor,” he chides. “You don’t run around screaming at cosmic pilots for transcending humanity by exposing people to the horrors of spaceflight, do you? Even though the risks from accidentally entering a wormhole or dying star are far more gruesome than a clinical distribution.”

Connor stares at him, bewildered. “Those aren’t even remotely the same thing. Get better metaphors.”

“If you insist,” Heartland remarks, looking vexingly unbothered by this, “I’ll tell my surgeons to have my next cranial implant come from a writer or a poet. Will that make you feel better?”

Connor wants to tell Heartland in no uncertain terms that something that would make him feel better would involve Connor’s fist going somewhere very nonclinical indeed, but Risa places a gentle hand on his arm, a quiet reminder to cool it, and he manages to swallow back the anger before it consumes him entirely.

“So,” Connor says, fighting the urge to scream, “The trap. It didn’t work.”

Heartland arches a brow dubiously. “Of course it did. You’re here.”

Connor shakes his head, exasperated yet again by the man’s wording. “No, no. The trap with the Graveyard kids. We’re going chronologically. It failed because everyone in the colony was taken.”

“Did it?” Heartland remarks. “Because I still have all of my distributes back with me.”

Too late, Connor realizes that he’s misread the situation again. “Starkey already came back here,” he whispers quietly. “You got them back.”

“Of course I did,” Heartland says mildly. “He fell for the same lie you did. Funny, no matter the technique– blood or bargaining– both of you dropped all of your good sense the moment you heard there were distributes about to die.”

Risa lets out a slow gasp. “You have everybody?”

Strangely enough, Heartland wavers slightly before he answers. “Yes.”

“No,” Connor guesses. “You don’t. Someone escaped. He’s got a big group, someone could have slipped through the cracks.”

At the bright flash of warning in Heartland’s eyes, Connor knows he’s struck it right. Risa grins. “Starkey got away didn’t he? Little starspawn always puts himself first.”

Heartland’s mood has gone sour, and when he starts to move forward, Connor knows that the time for monologuing is over. “It doesn’t matter. He can’t run far. I have you, I have his supporters. All of you will be in pieces by the end of the week. A few hours in between captures makes no difference to me.”

Connor grabs Risa’s hand, throwing himself forward towards the gap he’d seen earlier. Immediately, a few passersby try to block their passage, but they’re both running now, as fast as they can. Connor knocks into somebody as he hurtles back through the park, but he doesn’t check to see who it was. Anyone who isn’t Risa is an enemy now, and anyone in their path will be trampled on their way to freedom.

Something whistles over Connor’s shoulder and buries itself in a nearby synth-hedge. He recognizes the slim dart as he passes, calling out to Risa in between gasps for air, “They’re shooting tranqs at us! Be careful.”

“Always am,” Risa growls under her breath, pulling him around a tight corner. 

The tall gate marking the entrance of the park is within sight, and Connor puts on an extra burst of speed, willing them to get there. They can lose the guards in the streets if they have to, but right now, with everyone so close behind them, there’s no way they could last forever.

As he thinks this, Connor hears a tranq gun fire somewhere behind them, plus the whistle as the dart flies through the air. A quiet thunk sounds, and since Connor can’t feel any pain, he assumes it’s another miss, right up until the point when Risa stumbles and starts to fall.

Immediately, he starts to panic. Connor catches her before she hits the ground. As he helps her up, his hands brush the dart sticking out of her shoulder. “No,” he mutters urgently. Connor needs Risa to be able to run. It’ll be tricky to carry her unconscious body as he sprints through the city, trying to shake the Juvey-cops, but Connor has made the last year or so banking on similar impossibilities. For Risa, he might as well stop distribution altogether while he’s at it.

Clutching Risa to him, Connor stumbles through the gate. They’ll get out, they have to. Risa’s body slides from his arms the second before he’s past the twin iron bar doors, though. Already over the threshold, he spins around to retrieve her, but the doors of the gate slam shut in his face. Belatedly, he realizes that Risa is the one who pulled herself free, and it is Risa now who is locking the gate between the two of them, making sure that no one else can get out. More specifically, she is ensuring that Connor cannot get her back.

Connor tugs desperately at the metal bars of the gate, but they don’t budge. Risa has grabbed a synth-vine from the ground and is knotting it around the handles, taking extra precautions to avoid them opening.

“No!” He screams, voice raw. “Don’t you do this to me, Risa. Don’t you leave me. You promised.”

Connor feels like a child begging for something he can’t have. You promised. But they had promised, both of them, they’d sworn they’d either make it out of this alive or die together. Yet here Risa is now, locking herself and the Juveys on the other side of a wall from him.

Risa tries to answer, but already, her words are slurring, her movements impeded as the tranq works its way through her system. “You– you can’tttt– get both of us outt,” she tells him. “Save yoursellllfff, Connnnnnor. Like you did for meee.”

Connor yells that he won’t do it, he won’t, but the Juveys are upon her already, dragging Risa’s unconscious body back from the doors. It’s too late to save her, and as a gate farther down the length of the park opens up, spilling out cops onto the street about half a block from Connor, he knows that he can’t waste her sacrifice, either.

So, hating himself with every step he takes away from her, Connor turns and runs down the street, pushing himself faster and faster. Connor swears that half of his life has been running at this point. He wonders if he’ll ever stop. He wonders if he will ever forgive himself for not being the one to sacrifice himself for Risa again. He wants to tell her that he wasn’t worth this, not at the cost of her, but she can’t hear him anymore.

Connor skids down a series of alleyways. There are guards everywhere, it feels like, breathing down his back and drawing closer to him with every step he takes. Connor pulls himself up a rickety fire escape so he can use the roofline to skirt over a high gate. After that, it’s easier to drop into a new set of alleys, to cling to the shadows, to shove a hand over his mouth to muffle the wild gasps for breath as the cops go thundering past. Connor’s good at hiding, but hiding won’t save anyone but himself.

Connor sags back against the grimy wall of the back alley as reality comes crashing in again. Risa is gone. The Deadmen who managed to escape their harvest colony when Starkey saved them have been captured once again. Connor is well and truly on his own. What can one boy do to save all of his friends from dying?

Heartland would tell him nothing. Connor’s brain is telling him nothing too, but his heart whispers a different story. He can’t give up hope, not now. Hundreds of AWOLs are counting on him to break them out. Even if it kills him, Connor can at least try.

He pokes his head out of the shadow, risking a glance into the relatively dim light of the alleyway. He doesn’t hear anything, nor see any crowds of Juvey-cops waiting on him, so he creeps out a little farther, taking careful, treacherous steps down the alley and into the sun again.

Connor emerges onto a quiet scene. He can see streets unfurling somewhere in the distance. In between them, an abandoned court for some sports game that was too expensive to make it over to the OH-10 sector. Connor pads onto the smooth ground. He can’t tell what material it is, just firm enough to make him feel like the ground is solid beneath his feet, but giving just enough that he won’t risk injury.

Is this what it means to live at the heart of Centerworld? Forget the synth-gardens and false flowers; they can create entire worlds for themselves, custom-tailor planets and star systems to fit their plans. No wonder Heartland could get away with rewriting his physical body. There is no limit to innovation here, and no limit to how much they’ll strip away from the outer systems to make that happen.

Connor makes it halfway across the court before someone calls his name.

“Connor. Long time, no see.”

The words make the hairs on the back of Connor’s neck stand up. He hasn’t heard that voice in a while, but he’d recognize it anywhere. Even from somewhere behind him in the creeping metal tunnels of the Graveyard. Even glitchy and broken up from a security holo. Even now, on a planet that belongs to neither of them.

Starkey.

Connor turns around slowly, hands raising from his sides to be ready for whatever trouble is about to come his way. “What do you want?”

Starkey chuckles. His hair has gotten brighter since Connor saw him last; lighter, closer to gold than red, like a fire that’s heightened to an inferno. Connor certainly feels as if he’s a bit of pitch and charcoal, crumbling away to ash. How is it fair that Starkey had time to sit around and re-dye the locks while Connor was hurling from star system to star system in an effort to save the people he holds dear? It’s impossible. This confrontation was not supposed to happen yet. Connor needs to direct all of his focus towards saving Risa. There is no room in his plan for tangling with Starkey.

Starkey, like usual, does not seem like he cares much about what Connor wants. “That’s rude, you know. I thought you’d have kinder words for an old friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Connor spits. “Not since you had your little show on that harvest colony.”

Starkey’s grin broadens, clearly delighted. “You saw that? I was wondering if you would. Do you have any constructive criticism? I mean, you’re the king for taking down Juveys, you did do it first, but I think I did mine with a bit more flavor. You were never willing to commit. You can’t save the unwinds without willing to do whatever it takes.”

“And butchery is whatever it takes?” Connor asks dryly. “Funny, I thought that’s what we were trying to stop in the first place.”

Starkey’s incandescent smile flicks out in a second. Connor still feels like the manic grin was creepier than the dead stare, though. At least now, Connor knows what’s coming. They’re not friends and they never have been. The sooner Starkey put away the adoring fan image, the better.

“Don’t tell me you miss the doctors who would have unwound us,” he hisses. “They wanted us in pieces, Connor. They would have taken your organs in a heartbeat, and they sure as sunfire wouldn’t be crying for you like you are for them. Niceness won’t get you anywhere. They don’t have a moral compass, so why should I?”

“It’s not just the distributors you have to win over, it’s the entire galaxy.” Connor tells him. “Can’t you see that? No one will agree to stop distribution if they’re terrified of us. We have to convince people in every single star system that we deserve saving, but so long as you’re bombing out harvest colonies, that’s not going to happen. You have to play the long game.”

Starkey’s eyes flash, and Connor is briefly reminded of the flare of the exploding engines back on the Graveyard right before the whole place went nuclear. “No, Connor, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. They’ll only respond to shows of force. If we stay quiet, we’re easy to ignore. Look, right now I’ll give you the opportunity to take it back. This is your chance for redemption. You’ve been afraid of getting your hands dirty for too long. I’ve never been scared. There are no shades of gray, just black and white. You’re with them or you’re with me. Pick who you want to be, Connor, but either way, you’re not walking out of here as anything but one of my men.”

Connor’s breath feels harsh in his lungs, grating against his ribcage. He can’t join Starkey, he can’t, but what if this is the only way? “One of your men? I wasn’t aware you had an army.”

Starkey’s lip curls. “We’re better than that. They’d follow me everywhere. See, I watched you, Connor. I watched you for a year in the Graveyard. I saw what you did. Those kids loved you, even though you didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t wrap my head around why they’d willingly devote themselves to someone who clearly wasn’t willing to go all the way, but then it hit me. Everyone loves a hero. So I made myself one.”

The dots are connecting in Connor’s head, but the picture they reveal is far more terrible than he’d ever envisioned. “That’s why you sent that message through Hayden’s radio frequency, isn’t it? It wasn’t an accident, you wanted the Juvey-cops to find us. You wanted a showdown.”

“Of course I did,” Starkey sneers. “I’d been planning it for weeks. No accident there. The second the Juveys were sighted, I directed all of my closest followers plus a few extra kids towards one of the shuttles that was still docked in the Graveyard. We got out before shots were even fired. After that, it was easy to track down the harvest colony. Once I swooped in and saved the day, they loved me more than they’ll ever love you. Best decision I ever made.”

Connor wants to kill him. “Sentencing hundreds of kids to distribution, destroying the Graveyard, killing the Admiral– that was the best decision you ever made? People died in the riots. Dozens have already been unwound. All so you could get some hero worship.”

Starkey just shrugs. “Every battle has its casualties. We’re still alive, aren’t we? I knew you would pull through anyway. I hate to say it, but I was counting on it. I always use you to spring the trap. I slipped up this time, I tried to free the kids first, but next time I’ll let you challenge that weirdo before me so I can get it right.”

“What do you mean, next time?” Connor asks, voice tightening. “Just what are you planning?”

Starkey spreads his arms theatrically. “I’m ending it. No more distribution. It was one thing to take out a harvest colony, but with the amount of explosives I’ve got on my ship, I could take out this whole damn city.”

Connor tenses up. “You’re not just targeting the distributors. You want to kill the civilians, too.”

Starkey chuckles remorselessly. “Of course I do. You think I give a damn about Centerworld? Look around you, Connor. Look how much they have that we don’t. This is what they deserve. It’s what we deserve. We’re going to bomb them to pieces. Maybe then they’ll have a deeper appreciation for what it’s like to be unwound.”

“No,” Connor breaks out. “You can’t. He captured Risa. I have to get her back first.”

Starkey lifts a shoulder. “I don’t care, I’m not stopping for one girl. Now come on. You’re either with me,” he says slowly, drifting closer to Connor again, “or you’re against me. Make your choice.”

Connor shakes his head. “I’m not joining you, Starkey. If you’ve been watching me this long, you know there’s no way I’d do anything to risk Risa. You killed my friends. You’re no better than the rest of them.”

Starkey’s face shuts down. “Actually, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

Connor sees the flash of Starkey’s hand to his belt right before the first shot rings out. Connor only just manages to drop to the ground and catch himself in a tight roll to the side. He hears the bullet whistle over his head and realizes that Starkey isn’t bothering with tranqs. Only one of them will be leaving this place alive, and since Starkey is the one with the gun, it isn���t looking great for Connor.

Another shot goes in the ground just a few inches from Connor’s head. He springs to his feet, racing towards the nearest exit. Already, the sound of gunfire is attracting attention:  a few heads poke out of nearby windows, and Connor can see the distant silhouettes of passersby pointing out the two of them.

“Stop this,” Connor urges. “I’m not your enemy, you idiot. You’re going to get the Juveys on us again.”

“They’ll only find your body,” Starkey challenges, and fires again.

Swearing violently, Connor throws himself around a corner. The bullet hits the wall, sending forth a shower of sparks and loose debris.

“Come out, Connor, come out,” Starkey calls, his tone a mocking sing-song beat.

Obviously Connor is not about to do this, so he drifts further down the side of the wall. Starkey is just on the other side of him, about to fire again and end it for real, and then his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack with shock.

Too late, Connor peers past him and sees that Juvey-cops have broken into the scene. One is lowering a tranq gun. As Starkey slumps over, Connor can see the dart embedded in his back. Quickly, the cops rush over and restrain him, hauling the boy to his feet. Starkey tries to fight back, but the tranq is slowing him down and it’s easy for the Juvey-cops to get him under control.

Starkey locks eyes with Connor as they drag him away. All of a sudden, his jaw unhinges and he starts to scream at the top of his lungs, spittle flying from his mouth with the force of his yells. “Wait, stop! He’s the one you want, not me! Connor Lassiter is right in front of you. You can get the fucking Akron AWOL. Kill him! Kill Connor! He’s your enemy. He’s the one you want.”

Connor’s eyes widen, and he presses himself further into the shadows. Starkey redoubles his efforts to break free, writhing in the arms of the Juvey-cops even as they pull him farther from Connor. “Get Connor!” Starkey screams again. “You don’t even want me. I didn’t do anything to you. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. Fuck the Juveys. Fuck Centerworld. I’m just a kid.”

Nausea threatens to black him out, and Connor has to press a hand against his mouth to bring himself under control. Starkey disappears down the street, but the rest of the Juveys don’t follow him out of the court. Instead, a few exchange glances, then start to head Connor’s way, evidently wanting to see what Starkey was talking about just in case.

Sunfire. Not what he wanted. Connor turns to run for what might be the hundredth time today, but he has no idea where to go. He’s out of the alleys now. All that’s left is the street lined with luxurious houses, and anyone watching from their gilded windows could tell the Juveys where Connor went. He starts moving anyway, a brisk walk turning into a jog, but there’s nowhere to hide out here.

So he thinks, at least, until a hand latches onto his and starts to drag him away. Connor’s first instinct is to fight, but then he realizes that this mysterious stranger is leading him farther from the cops, not towards them, and he slackens his grip. He doesn’t recognize the teenager, nor the one who joins them half a block down, nor the one at the door of a house who ushers them all through the door and into the relative safety of the building.

Connor does, however, recognize the blond tween who’s waiting for him inside. It’s been a long time since they crossed paths, but when Connor gapes at the boy in front of him, the name that rises to his lips is still the correct one:

“Lev?”

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[thedeathofduty]

Talisman III

Summary: The day you've been so excited for has finally come to pass. You'd imagined that your wedding with Aemond would be jovial, romantic, and peaceful. Unfortunately, the events of Storm's End hang over the both of you like a dark cloud.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x UnspecifiedHouse!F!Reader

Warning(s): Reader has a panic attack

A/N: When I was younger, my older sister told me about when she attended my uncle's wedding as a little girl. Apparently, when it was time to kiss the bride, he pulled her veil up and used it to hide them and given themselves some semblance of privacy during the ceremony. Anyway, my life has not known peace every since that day. It remains one of the most heartwarming and absolutely romantic things I have ever personally heard of in my entire life, and I absolutely believe Aemond would do that for his wife. I was originally planning on including the actual ~wedding night~ here, but that's going to be its own separate part. Here's a link to my master list with all the parts!

Not for the first time that night, your hand found Aemond's on the table, wrapping carefully around it and squeezing. He kept slipping into his deep pondering, leaving you to pull him out of his own mind wracked with vicious guilt. It had all happened so fast; a mere fortnight ago Aemond had been on his knees in your chambers after the fateful events of Storm's End. Word had already reached the Black Queen of her son's death. It was said that she fainted when her husband brought the news to her and, when your betrothed heard this, you feared he would do the same from the way his already pale face had grown even more pallid. His crime would be answered in time, you both knew this, but tonight was not about that.

Your wedding ceremony in the Sept earlier had been grand and beautiful, but in such a hollow way. Not a single member of your house had come to bless your union and, though you had tried to stay strong in the wake of such absolute rejection, Aemond had still noticed the glassy sheen in your eyes. When the time came for him to kiss you in front of the congregation, he was kind enough to gently grab the fabric of your red headpiece and cast it up as a curtain to hide your tear-stricken face as his lips found yours in the golden light. It had been simple, sweet, and chaste, but you were both smiling widely when you gazed into each other's eyes. The bells rang so long and so loud, each clang melted into the beating of your heart.

After his brother's return from his ill-fated journey, Aegon had been ceaseless in his celebrations. For the past twelve nights, the Red Keep had been filled with all manner of performers and musicians. Now, the Great Hall was once again alive with wine, music, and revelry. The sun was nearly gone outside, the night fast approaching, and you tried not to appear as nervous as you felt inside. Your beloved had not been himself of late and that was only making you more uneasy for what awaited you tonight.

Servants had been fretting over you all day, constantly fixing your hair into intricate braids studded with small rubies and emeralds. Even now, you felt you could not move your head freely lest some errant lock of hair come unwound and leave you looking completely disheveled. You were dressed in Targaryen red and black, but your entire bodice carried the embroidered design of a golden dragon with bright green eyes. Everyone in the royal family had the same dragon somehow displayed on their clothing, but only yours was so prominent.

It was to show your allegiance and, though you would be happy just to come out the other side of this inevitable war with all your limbs intact and your loved ones still of this world, you knew it was important to signal for everyone to see you were a Green down to your bones. You only hoped such an open declaration would not hurt your father or any of your extended family, but their fates were with the Mother and the Warrior now. All you could do was pray for mercy and safety.

When Aemond's tired eye met your face now, he gave you a weak smile and wound your fingers together. "You needn't worry about me."

"And yet I do." You carefully used your free hand to fix his eye patch, making sure it sat perfectly perched on his head as he had fixed your braids a few times throughout the day. After you were satisfied, you leaned back to regard his placid face and began to gnaw at your lower lip. "Are you happy?" The question came so suddenly, you almost did not realize you were asking it until it was already said aloud.

"My love," he murmured, gently tilting your face up to his with his free hand and, as always happened whenever he touched you, the world melted away, "is that what you fear?" When you did not answer, he brought your hand up to his mouth and pressed a small kiss to your knuckles.

"Are you with me?" you asked his favorite question quietly. You wanted him to be here with you, completely in this moment that the two of you would only ever experience together once. Though you knew what ailed him, you still ached at how distant he felt. He had even lost his temper with you a few days ago when you had asked him a question about what sort of cake he might like the kitchens to make. That was not like him, he never snapped at you... Of course, he had apologized immediately, cradling your face in his hands and darting his ocean blue eye back and forth between yours with a look of pained desperation. He had not released you until you softened under his touch and stroked his hands. You were trying to be patient and sympathetic, but a small part of you was afraid. Had Aemond's awful crime changed him completely? Was he still the man you had come to care for or had something dark taken hold of him somewhere deep inside of him, somewhere your love could not reach?

Shame marred his fine features and he kissed your knuckles once more, an unspoken apology. "I am with you, my little talisman." You gave him a warm smile, an unspoken forgiveness.

No sooner had the two of you found your peace that Aegon was standing up from his seat next to your husband, his drink raised far over his head. "A toast!" he shouted, his voice breaking loudly over the music and all at once there was silence. For a moment, he stayed like that, his dark crown resting severely on his silver head as he grinned and inhaled the quiet he had commanded. "To my brother," he continued, clapping a rough hand on Aemond's shoulder, "a man so devoted to the Crown that not even the gods could stop him." Your eyes widened at the King's words as you tightened your grip on Aemond's hand in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort. "I wish my brother and his bride a long and happy marriage. To Aemond Targaryen, the Kinslayer!"

The crowd cheered at his words, some of the men even drumming their hands on the large wooden tables around the Great Hall. Everyone drank, the King included, as Aemond's lips pursed together and he looked down before forcing a stiff smile onto his face. Before you could stop him, he too stood with his glass of wine.

"And to my brother Aegon, second of his name, our one true King. Perhaps now the Princess will know her true place."

Alicent sighed deeply next to you and you turned to look at her. You imagined the two of you looked much the same right now, both full of grief and bowing under the weight of the fear of whatever wrath the gods might visit upon you all. Aemond had told her the truth the morning after he returned to you. Maybe he had asked you to accompany him because he thought he would have been able to keep his composure. If that was the case, he was mistaken.

When he told her, she had collapsed into her chair with a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries and her eyes brimming with tears. At the sight of him on his knees with his sobbing face buried in his mother's skirts and her arms around him, her cheek pressed into his hair as she assured him over and over again that yes, she did still love him, of course she loved him, she loved him so much, he was her son... You rushed out of her room with thick, hot tears in your eyes and did not stop until you reached the godswood. Your family did not worship the Old Gods, but still you found yourself praying that whoever was listening would grant you the strength to be your love's shield. You knew he would need you now more than ever.

Ser Criston was the one who found you there, though you did not notice him until you stood. The two of you had hardly ever exchanged a few words, but he seemed fond of you. You suspected the only grievance he had was that your presence in the training yard often distracted his star pupil. He bowed his head to you as you asked him what he prayed for.

"I pray for justice for those I love who have been wronged," he'd said, "and forgiveness for the many sins I've committed."

"Sins?" You had always known him to be overall a kind man, though he could be quite stern with Aemond. It was the sternness of a father, something you felt every young man needed to stay on a righteous path.

"We are none of us free of sin, my Lady." You nodded gravely, and he stayed with you for as long as you needed in complete silence until you were ready for him to walk back with you.

Much of the rest of the dinner passed without incident. You did not have to rouse your husband from his thoughts again and for that, you were thankful. More than a few times, your eyes drifted over to the place of honor that had been reserved for your family: the long table closest to the royal family, and the empty seat at the end of it that had been meant for your father.

'This is my family now,' you reminded yourself as many times as you needed. Your girlhood spent seeking shelter in your father's shadow, growing cold and lonely at his distance following the death of your mother, the childhood laughter and sadness that most likely still lingered in the halls back home, it was all gone. Though you did not always feel it, you were a woman now. You had been the maiden and in time, you would be the mother. You inhaled the lavender-scented oil on your wrists any time you had to calm your nerves. That very morning, it had arrived for you, sent by your father from wherever he was now. It was the only proof you had that he did not hate you for marrying without his explicit permission. Though Aemond told you he'd ridden out on Vhagar to find him and ask for your hand, some part of you doubted he would allow you to marry a man who had committed so vile a sin as kinslaying. The thought that the Prince had forced him or threatened him somehow, though you knew it should frighten or anger you, only made you smile.

"I think you will like being a mother," Helaena told you at one point during dinner and Alicent smiled at her daughter's words. It seemed to be easier for her to speak when Aegon was not around and now he was out in the crowd, dancing shamelessly with a few of the younger ladies. "You can experience everything again through your children's eyes. They are innocent."

"I have always wanted to be a mother," you confessed. "I always imagined myself with a little girl, though I suppose that is because I always wanted a sister."

"Aren't we sisters now?" You smiled softly at the realization and nodded.

"The three most important women in my life," Aemond said and your face flushed. "Thank the gods you all get along so well or else I'd go mad."

"Oh, hush," you chuckled, lightly smacking his shoulder, "you know how I love your family."

"Even my brother?"

"Aemond," Alicent warned, though her voice held no real malice.

Throughout it all, the Lord Hand merely observed. It unnerved you sometimes how he just seemed to enjoy watching the smaller, simpler parts of life without participating. He was like a sleeping sentinel who only came to life when necessary. When Aemond had publicly told the Council of his crime, Otto had allegedly been the first to jump out of his seat, fury and curses on his lips as he struck the Prince. How Alicent had allowed that, you were not sure, but you were not privy to those meetings. It was difficult to truly know what went on in there. You knew you should not listen to idle gossip and so you did not mention what you had heard to anyone. If it was false, there was no need to continue dishonesty, and if it was true... Aemond was already burdened with more than enough shame. He did not need you to press at any of his gaping wounds.

"I hope you are all enjoying the celebration," Otto said lowly and a hush settled over all of you, "because while we are all drinking and dancing, the Rogue Prince and his false Queen are plotting our demise."

"Father, I think my son deserves a proper wedding."

"What he deserves is best not discussed publicly." Alicent opened her mouth to speak again, but he held a hand up to her. "He has brought war and destruction to our door and we reward his behavior by giving him a bride and a feast? It is an outrage and an insult, and I'll partake no longer. Perhaps when our King is able to stand from his bed on the morrow, we may meet in the Small Council chamber to plan our next move." With that, he took his leave, though Alicent trailed behind him with a hard look on her face.

"He is right," Aemond said and you shook your head but said nothing.

Aegon rejoined his family at the table, a laugh still on his lips. "Where did grandfather go?"

"He was mad that you threw a feast for Aemond," Helaena said and Aegon shrugged.

"Perhaps if he drank a little, he would see there's no cause for concern. This war will be quick."

"No wars are ever quick to the families who experience the losses, You Grace," you chimed in, wiping your palms on the fabric of your dress when he looked at you strangely.

"Very well-said, Y/N. You've a clever wife, brother." You did not think what you said was clever at all. It was just the pure truth. "Oh! I was speaking with Lord Lannister and he told me he is very eager for tonight."

"And what is happening tonight?" Aemond asked.

"A 'return to tradition', he said. I do not know."

Your eyes immediately found Aemond's, the panic clear on both of your faces. "A what? What did he say?"

"Nothing, just that he was looking forward to a return to tradition, now that this is a young King's court again."

Aemond sat up straight in his seat, one of his hands in a fist on the table as the other grabbed yours. Your heartbeat picked up in your chest until it pounded loudly in your ears. "Did he say anything about my wife?"

Aegon took a swig from his glass. "Just that she's very pretty."

Aemond was gripping your hand so tightly, it hurt. His face was twisted in fury and you longed to reach out and comfort him, but you felt leagues away and so, so dizzy. "That's the bedding ceremony, Aegon. That's what he is talking about."

"What? No, not even father did that."

"Yes, hence the 'return to tradition,'" he growled, his voice steadily growing louder, "are you stupid or do you merely pretend?"

Fear clawed at your chest and your breath came out hard and fast at the thought of what was being described. A group of old, lecherous men staring at you as you did the most intimate thing possible with the person you loved most? You would die. You were certain you would die of fright the moment the servants had stripped you down to your chemise. "Aemond," you gasped and he released you to instead put a firm hand on the back of your neck, swiping his thumb at the tender skin just below your ear. He turned to you abruptly and you could feel his eye scanning your face, but he felt so far away from you. It was like your soul had tripped inside your body and was having a hard time standing again.

"I am here," he murmured as you trembled, feeling farther and farther away. It may as well have been happening right then and there. Alicent was back. When had she come back? You could not remember.

"What is happening?"

"My wastrel brother has decided to let his Lords look upon my wife on our first night together."

"Do you really think I would do that?"

"Aegon, you are bringing back the bedding ceremony? How could you do something so barbaric?"

"I am not bringing back anything, the man just assumed-"

"Yes, and why would he assume that if not for the fact that you are a man filled with sin and depravity? Filth recognizes filth."

"You've some nerve talking to me about sin. I have no interest in watching you fuck your new bride, brother."

"I very much doubt that. Nothing is beneath you."

"Aemond, please. Both of you, enough."

Hands found your arm and you startled. Helaena had moved next to you and was stroking your arm gently, though she could not meet your eyes. It was fine, you did not need her to. Her kind gesture was enough. "I need air," you finally spoke and that seemed to cut the tension enough.

"Of course, my dear girl, come," Alicent said softly as she began to help you out of your seat. "Helaena, help me with her."

"Not here," Aegon said quietly, "we can talk outside."

Alicent and her daughter walked with you outside into the brisk night air. With a hand on the wall to steady yourself, you took a few quick greedy gulps of air before you felt yourself fully come back into your body.

"Aemond will not let this happen to me," you declared it as the immutable fact you knew it was. Nobody had seen Alicent when she was with King Viserys, nobody had seen Helaena, why then should anybody see you? You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

"My son has always jealously guarded everything he loves," Alicent said with a tight smile on her face. "When he claimed his dragon, he would not allow any of the dragonkeepers to touch her. He still does not allow it. You are safe, Lady Y/N."

"What if Aegon forces him?"

"He won't, he loves him too much," Helaena said simply. You waited for her to elaborate, but it seemed she was done speaking.

Eventually, you returned to your seat and continued the celebration with everybody together. When it was time for your dance, you leaned into the choreographed steps and allowed your body to do it all for you. Before Aemond had even left to Storm's End, you had spoken often of the dance and how you wanted it to go. At first, he had not been very passionate, but he grew to care as he saw how much you enjoyed it. He moved around you like fire swallowing a candle or the ring of light surrounding a star. As he held you close and twirled you around to present you to the world, you felt as precious as a rare jewel.

When it was time to leave, your chest tightened uncomfortably in fear. The moment Aemond noticed your apprehension, he gently held your hand in his.

"Look at me," he murmured and you met his gaze with wide eyes, "you are my talisman. You are the wishing star in my sky, the salt over my shoulder, the mark of my fortune. Nobody but I will see you tonight, darling wife."

Your eyes fluttered as his words pushed all the air from your lungs. You ached to lean into him, to kiss him deeply and tell him you adored him completely, but all the eyes in the Hall stopped you. "Do you swear it?"

His lips grazed your knuckles. "Have you ever known me to be false?"

You leaned in closer to him, your stomach fluttering at the way his breath stuttered and his eye instantly dropped to your lips. "Will I finally see all of you tonight, my love? I am your wife now. We are one body, one heart, one soul, for all eternity."

You thanks the gods that Aemond was not the type to interpret your words in a lascivious way, and that he understood what you were alluding to. Though the two of you had grown close and he lavished affection on you at ever turn and yes, you knew he trusted you, he had never allowed you a glimpse under his eye patch. Once he had told you he had a sapphire put in place of his lost eye and you had found the concept so charming and almost romantic, that he had taken something so tragic and turned it into something beautiful. It was admirable, really, but you had worried then that complimenting him without having seen it yourself would make you seem false or sycophantic. If you could see him tonight, though, you could finally share your secret feelings with him.

"As your Lord Husband, I owe you complete honesty. I vowed to honor you in any way possible, and this is one of those ways." He trailed his fingers along your arm and you smiled at him. "As long as you do not run screaming, all will be well."

You laughed softly. "I may as well run screaming from myself. No, my dearest love, I am with you from this day until my last day."

[whumpshaped]

HAH YES GET FUCKED WHUMPER GET OFF UR VICTIMS PORCH

I hope your Thing goes well

new prompt: horrid

~🪴~

we're going on vacation :) im waiting for everyone else to finish packing

tw nonhuman whumpee, gore, mention of being boiled alive

"What is that?" Caretaker stepped closer, flinching back when the horrid little pile of flesh moved. "Fuck! Jesus, what the fuck-"

A small whimper cut off their string of curses before it could gain too much momentum, making them stop in their tracks. Did it come from the shapeless chunk of raw meat?

Oh god. Was that- "Wh-Whumpee?"

The thing shifted again, and this time, a mostly intact face emerged from between limbs that had been shielding it up until that point. Holy shit. They had plucked all of Whumpee's feathers- and the burns- did they boil them alive?

"'m s-sorry for b-being disgusting," they whimpered.

"Oh, no, no... Whumpee, no..." Caretaker walked over to them, confidently this time, crouching next to them to be able to scoop them into their arms. "You're not. I'm so sorry. I'm here to help."

~

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Hell yeah friendo wants it so you all shall receive!! Long post ahead!!

SO

What I was thinking about specifically that led to this realisation is thinking about Bonnie, and the fun narrative I've built with Roxy being the one to kill him. But it hit me this morning that it wouldn't work like that.

Because Bonnie isn't dead. Or at least, not by the animatronics' standards.

The human body can survive a lot, but it has it's limitations and weakpoints. When a limb is missing, it cannot be replaced with another. We have prosthetics, yes, but they're bulky, they're inconvenient, and a lot of amputees prefer not to bother unless they need to. Killing a human, requires the heart to stop beating, and the body to be unable to recover enough to keep it beating. Or so is my understanding of these two topics, I've never lost a limb or died so take this with a pinch of salt perhaps.

All of this doesn't apply to an animatronic. What makes them alive, is not their body, and Fazbear Entertainment animatronics don't have the agency to decide what gets replaced and what doesn't anyway. Losing an arm is the same as a minor scratch on a human's arm. Kinda stings, but it can heal, or in their case, get fixed back up again. Any and all damage to them is like this, even if they can feel pain. Nothing like this is permanent for them.

Which leads me to believe that if you removed the battery, the heart, of an animatronic, it would still be considered alive. The battery can be replaced like anything else can. If it's flat, it can be recharged and reinstalled. Just like the damage, just like the rest of their bodies, the battery doesn't matter.

What removing the battery does, in my opinion, is put the animatronic on pause. Nothing functions without power, and they physically cannot be aware of anything, because nothing is functioning. I suppose it's more similar to a coma or unconsciousness if we're going to draw similarities to humans here. The important thing here, is that they're not dead. No animatronic would consider them as such, because they're still there. Non-functioning, appearing dead to any human eyes, but they know they're not. Stick a new battery in, patch up the damages and just like everything else, it's like it never happened.

So what does kill an animatronic? What is the important part of them that dictates whether they're alive or not? Well I dunno what they're specifically called in robotics or what their Fazname in the fnafverse is, but I've always called them personality chips. The things you put into the metal body, with all the programming, all the memories, and all the life is determined by those things. They're the most protected thing in the animatronic's body and the most expensive to replace. If you were to truly kill the animatronic, you would need to remove and destroy them.

This is the only type of permant damage an animatronic can have. A damaged chip that still functions, causes problems that may not be able to be fixed. And since those chips control every part of the body as well, damages to them effects everything.

What this means for Bonnie, to me, in the narrtive I have built, is that he's still considered to be alive. The battery was removed (violently) and he's heavily protected from anyone that could repair him and wake him up again. He has been stopped. He's been put on hold. He has been removed from the equation. That's it.

This logic applies to everyone they may have lost too. Foxy? Paused. Chica's Cupcake? Paused. The Minis that can't be woken up? Paused.

None of them are dead. Not a single one. Their chips are still around, and that means, their life is still intact. They've been put in stasis, but they're still there. They can come back.

Now, you may be wondering, what to do with this. If they can't die with the chips still intact, then how do you give them grief? How do they feel about an animatronic being on pause like this? The answer is simple!

Awful. It's fucking awful.

"But they can come back! It's not permanent!" you say, but that's not the issue now. It's not about where they are, what happened to them or whether they're truly dead or not. The issue now loops back around to them being animatronics.

Animatronics have no agency. They are not valued like a human life would be. Whether they're alive in all but body or not, they are still not human. They only exist, when it suits whoever owns them, and who owns these animatronics? Fazbaddecisions Entertainment.

How they value an animatronic is entirely based an money. That's it. Who they are, what they do and what they become is not their concern. If there's money to be made, money to be saved, or money to be lost, they care about it. Thoughts, feelings, justice, happiness, and most importantly, lives? That's not on their agenda unless they're covering up another dead guy. Fazbear Entertainment holds all the dice. They're the ones that make the call on what happens to an animatronic, day in and day out. And they don't care unless it involves money.

So, what does this mean for the animatronics in stasis? That are still alive but non-functioning? What does it mean for the animatronics still going about their daily duties? The ones that know their friends aren't dead and are still very much alive?

It means uncertainty. It means unreliability. It means unpredictability. It means some animatronics will go into stasis, and come back out within a few months, while others wake up a decade later. It means all the animatronics not in stasis, don't know when or if they will ever see their friends again. It means they don't know if they make enough money to not go into stasis for very long themselves. It means getting a new member of the team and the worst animatronic they really hoped had gone somewhere else was chosen instead of their best friend. It means a new version of their loved one with a new set of chips could show up and they have to smile at a duplicate that has no idea who they're even talking to, whilst wondering why.

This is just what their life is and always will be. The knowledge that they can be swapped out at any time. They can be here this year, go into stasis, and not come back for another five. There's a seething frustration with every animatronic they bring back, or every new animatronic they introduce to the world, when their friends are right there and ready to go. What makes these animatronics better than their loved ones? Why is there a new version of them and not the one they know and miss so much it hurts? No one is going to tell them if the chip got damaged. No one is going to tell them if an accident snuffed their life out in a milisecond. They can ask a member of staff, but every single one of them will have a different answer. So many of them have lied to them, and so many have hurt them without a second thought, that it's just not worth the risk.

And so, they are left to wonder why knowing full well they will never get an answer.

[gwenbrightly]

(Re)Building the Future: Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who read, commented, or reblogged for the first chapter! Here's the part where we all pretend like I know anything about first aid... I mean... Chapter 2!

As she clears the last of the elevator's wreckage away, Roxy steps back to examine her work. She doesn't understand how this happened. Yes, the elevator was clearly not very stable, but it made the trip down perfectly fine. What went wrong on the way back up? She was too busy with It to truly pay attention to what was happening elsewhere. And now… All she can do now is hope the crumpled body in front of her isn't already dead.

Just now, Roxy isn't sure having eyes again is a good thing, because she can see every cut, bruise, and twisted limb. She may not know much about human anatomy, but she's seen enough kids to know that there is something very wrong with Cassie. Probably several somethings. 

First things first. She leans over the small girl and holds a claw to her neck. Okay. Roxy is going to assume that the slight fluttering she can feel there means the kid is still alive. That's good,she tells herself. That's promising. Next, she examines the girl's face. There's a pretty substantial gash on Cassie's forehead, but that should be fixable - right? It's not like her entire head popped off like the Driver Assist bots. The cut isn't deep enough for her brain to fall out. Humans are pretty resilient from what Roxy has seen. 

"Oh, ewwww," Helpy interrupts her thoughts, "I don't think her leg's supposed to bend that way!"

Well. There goes her attempt at positive thinking. 

"And her arm doesn't look so good either! That sure is a lot of blood!" Helpy continues. 

Yeah, the positive thinking route has officially gone nowhere. It might be time to panic now. 

"Do- Do you think it's safe to move her?" Roxy asks worriedly. 

"I meannn… she looks pretty rough... But if we leave her down here much longer, she's gonna die anyway."

"Right. Okay. Let's get her out of here, then," Roxy decides, "What's the safest route to the surface, Helpy? I don't think I can carry her up this elevator shaft."

~~~*~~~

Maybe it's the sense of urgency. Maybe it's the added weight of Cassie in her arms. Whatever the case, the return trip feels like it takes a lot longer than her mad dash into the sinkhole had earlier that night. By the time Roxy reaches the surface, the pinkish light of dawn greets her through a hole in the ceiling high above her. She surveys the wreckage of her beloved race track for the first time. Furniture is overturned. Piles of garbage cover the floor, which has caved in in several places. It's even worse than she'd imagined it might be. Ruined. 

There used to be a first aid station over by the Information booth, if she's not mistaken. So she climbs over more rubble to find it, being careful not to jostle Cassie too much. She can't risk injuring the girl further. 

All for nothing, ultimately. All that remains of the first aid station is an empty stall equipped with  even emptier cabinets. The human staff must have cleared it out before they abandoned the building. Abandoned her. There have been juvenile delinquents and thrill seekers, sure. But there hasn't been anyone to care about the animatronics living here in a long, long time. Until Cassie. Who is an innocent child and shouldn't be here to begin with. One who has already been through so much. She deserves better than to die in this forsaken place. 

Roxy mentally goes through her list of options. If her first aid station has been cleared out, it's unlikely any of the others are still intact. Freddy is long gone, screw him. He was supposed to be the leader. The one with answers. But he left them all behind as soon as he had the chance. She's got no idea where Chica and Monty are. Or if they're in any condition to do anything useful. They probably wouldn't be much help anyway. None of the Glamrock Band members were ever given much programming in first aid. There were other bots for that. Bots she's pretty sure have been deactivated; she hasn't come across any signs of them in her wanderings. The Nurse Bots used to bring her updates about the kids who injured themselves doing stupid stunts at the Raceway. But now? Nothing. Silence. 

Is there anyone left to help her care for this broken girl? 

Wait… there's one other animatronic she hasn't ruled out yet. Someone who is almost guaranteed to be equipped with first aid protocol as part of his programming. Roxy just has to hope he's in the mood to help. 

~~~*~~~

"You're sure he's been rebooted?" Roxy asks for the third time. She's standing outside the Superstar Daycare now. If the attendant is inside, he might be of use in this situation. Of course, if Moon has taken over, he'll probably want to torment Cassie instead of helping Roxy save her. She's never liked Moon much. He's a little too creepy for her taste. Even if the whole Pizzaplex is looking pretty creepy right now. 

"Yep! Cassie took care of that earlier. She's so brave!" Helpy says with a hint of admiration. 

"I guess I'd better get on with this, then." Throwing caution to the wind, Roxy knocks on the daycare's door. When there is no immediate answer, she bangs harder. Where could Eclipse be? 

"Sheesh," a voice calls from within, "gimme a minute. The daycare opens in just a few hours and there's still so much to do!" 

"Eclipse, please - this is important," she replies, giving the door another rattle. She debates telling the attendant it is unlikely the daycare will open again ever, let alone in a few hours. It doesn't seem that important, though, right now. 

"Hello, Roxy," Eclipse's head pops through the doors, "are you here to help? I bet if we put some of this junk on one of your racecars we could -" 

"Actually… I need your help, Eclipse," Roxy interrupts, practically shoving Cassie at him. 

"Oh. Oh my stars, what happened to you, little girl?!" Eclipse asks Cassie. "I told you it wasn't safe here!" 

All he gets is a moan in reply. 

"Please, you know first aid. I know you do! You have to fix her." Roxy insists. Eclipse stares at the small girl for a moment before bursting to action. 

"Emergency, emergency! Injured child! Call an ambulance! Contact the hospital right away!" 

Roxy isn't sure who he's talking to (if anyone), but she agrees. An ambulance for Cassie is exactly what they need. She follows Eclipse into the daycare and over to the reception desk, where he proceeds to pull a corded phone out of… somewhere and presses some buttons. They both wait eagerly for some sign that a call has gone through. Eclipse cocks his head and fiddles with the phone. It emits a dull tone, then goes silent. 

"Well. That's not good."

"The phone line has been disconnected." Roxy isn't asking. Eclipse nods. 

"The phone line has been disconnected, and I'm beginning to think the daycare hasn't been open for quite some time."

"It hasn't," Roxy confirms, "the whole place has been shut down ever since the earthquake. How did you miss that?" 

"I-I don't know? It doesn't matter right now. This little girl needs us!" Eclipse reminds her pointedly. 

"You're right. What do we do?" Roxy asks, hoping he'll know. He scans Cassie with glowing eyes, then nods decisively. 

"My programming only covers basic procedures like stitches and setting broken bones," The daycare attendant says. 

If those are considered basic, Roxy wonders what paper cuts and bandaids count as. 

"I should be able to fix her head injury if you help me gather supplies. But… The rest of her might be a little more tricky…"

"Just tell me what you need," Roxy says. She'll do pretty much anything. 

~~~~~~

Roxy holds Cassie's limp hand as Eclipse ties off the final stitch. They've used an unhealthy amount of antiseptic from the stash of supplies Eclipse keeps in his room and forced a few pain pills down her throat. Her face looks better, now. Not perfect, but better. The rest of her, on the other hand? Not so much. 

"She should heal up in a few weeks," Eclipse announces, "so long as she keeps her face clean and gets plenty of rest for that concussion."

"What are we gonna do about…" Roxy gestures at Cassie's other injuries. 

"Don't get mad-" Eclipse starts.

"Why would I get mad?" Roxy asks indignantly. She's not the one with anger issues - no way. That's Monty. Definitely. 

"I don't know if I can do anything more to help her."

"What?! No!" Roxy growls. She begins pacing. She's always found that to help her when she's processing. "Are you seriously giving up?" 

"Her leg is shattered, Roxy. She may never walk again. And her arm is impaled with little bits of rebar in multiple places. And she's already lost so. Much. Blood. The phones are down and the daycare is closed and I don't know what to do!" Eclipse is practically hyperventilating. Roxy pauses. Maybe she's been a little too hard on him. He's tried his best, after all. And he's kept it together a lot better than she has up til now. 

"I know. You're right. I'm sorry." Roxy says, putting a paw on Eclipse's shoulder. "I'm not good with losing situations."

"You really aren't," Eclipse agrees. 

They slip into  a quiet vigil, both watching the unconscious girl. Occasionally one of them will share a "What if?" but nothing seems to solve their problem. Neither animatronic would last long outside the Pizzaplex, and even if they did, they have no idea where the nearest hospital is. Killing Cassie and getting her ghost to possess a deactivated bot is a horrific idea for obvious reasons. Clearly Eclipse's time in the theater took him places Roxy would rather not think to deeply about if he thinks that's a viable option. 

"What if…" Roxy says, preparing for her newest bad idea to be shut down. 

"Yes?" Eclipse asks. 

"You know how we just… replace things on the bots when they break?" Roxy continues, hesitantly. 

"Yes?" Eclipse repeats, tilting his head. 

"What if we… Replaced Cassie's broken parts?" 

The daycare attendant stares at her. Roxy's pretty sure his eyes have gotten even wider than usual - if that's even possible. 

"That's-" 

"Crazy, I know," Roxy interrupts. 

"It might be crazy," Eclipse acknowledges, "but it might just be our best shot at getting her through this."

[irbcallmefynn]

Poll results are in! Euphi lore time!

When someone is a "Protogen", that's not their birth species. They could've been anything. A dog, a cat, a fox, a snake, a bear, a shark, whatever. Some may still identify as what they were born as. Others might not. Sometimes someone may have suffered a severe injury, or had a debilitating birth defect that makes life for them hard. When that happens, they may, if they choose, be augmented into a Protogen. Replaced limbs, digital faces, even completely mechanical organs. Different Protogens may be differing levels of mechanical. Some may have just needed a prosthetic arm, others may need their face replaced. Some may not even look like anything is mechanical at all, since it's just organs that were replaced. Euphi is one of those who are more machine than meat.

300 years Before Present. In a long gone country deep in the frozen North. The medic of a field expedition team, Euphi [LAST NAME REDACTED], has been missing for 14 hours. Being missing for that long in an environment such as this is almost certain death. She was found, half a mile from camp. Nobody knows what happened to her. Well, nobody still alive, anyway. But we do know that Euphi's face, arms and upper legs were unsalvageable. Her organs had almost completely failed, being kept alive by a weak, panicked heart. Given that it's the medic currently in need of immediate care, all the team could do was try and stabilize her until an extraction team could be brought in to save her. Bandages, CPR, splints, keep her in a sterile environment. They weren't trained for this, but you pick some things up. Plus, everyone is supposed to know how to cover a wound.

Help arrives. Euphi is still alive, barely. There's no time to wait to reach a hospital, she needs help now, on the helicopter. A temporary "face" is attached. Just enough to stop the pain, let her breath, get some words out. She can't see, can't emote. The voice is monotone.

Her memory is practically gone. She knows her name, her personality is intact, she always was a little overprotective, and she's still trying to act like everything is fine. But it's not. Nothing is fine. The only working organs she has are her brain, heart, and lungs. Just enough for her to live right now, but that's not going to last. She can't remember where she is, what she does, who anyone is, her childhood, her medical training. She's back to square one.

They land at a hospital. Which one? Doesn't matter, it's long gone now. New arms are needed, reattach the lower legs, it's easier to reattach them when the pelvis is metal too, is that ok? That temporary face has served her well, but this one will work better. Those old, dead organs? We need to replace those. These new parts can be powered much the same way as the originals, so a digestive system will be needed. Make a new way to dispose of bodily waste. Water isn't safe for these parts, so bathrooms are a dangerous place. You can repackage waste from the body as a biofuel. Clear out the dangerous stuff, expell it as a gas, the rest goes back in, like eating the same food 3 or 4 times in a row.

She'll need therapy. She's traumatized, she's confused, she can barely walk. Years pass, she's doing better. She can walk, she's at least recalled her medical training, she can go back to work. But her work isn't needed anymore. You don't need to go on expeditions when the world is fully mapped! Isn't the GPS incredible?

Something's off. It's been what, 30 years since that day? She hasn't aged a bit! Not that you could tell, there's not much organic stuff to age. She's gotten some part upgrades since then. New hands for better dexterity. A new face, this one has a clearer voice! She's developed a strong attachment to her heart. It kept her alive when nothing else could. If you asked Euphi, this is when She/Heart started to feel right.

Another 40 years. The original doctor that saved heart is dead. That expedition team is mostly dead. Euphi is same as always. Something's not right. Those mechanical bits have more or less taken priority in this body. More machine than mortal, and that means?

Immortality. Euphi won't be aging anymore.

Another 30 years, that country was absorbed into another. 100 years, nobody alive has met Euphi before. Faces pass, lovers are born, die, and new ones fill their place. Euphi has never known what it's been like to meet someone even half heart age. It's lonely. At least life isn't hard when you've got disability benefits from the government, plus your old money from back then.

Today. Well, maybe a month ago? It's hard to keep track of time when a day for you feels more like a second. Relaxing in a bar, buying drinks for people she's only known for a few minutes, with money worth magnitudes more than she remembers. This 1 Dollar note is worth 2 million? Well I guess it is kinda old.

Someone walks in. Two people actually. A wolf, angry and confused. A bird-thing. The bird immediately starts flirting with the bartender. Where's the wolf's mouth? Someone approaches the bird, pulls a knife. Uh oh, this could get-

Where's that guy go? Did the wolf always have that sandwich? People clear out. It's just those two, and Euphi. A conversation.

Abandoned by your family? On the run? You're half-demon? Wait how old are you? 180!? Funny, I'm actually somewhere around 350! Oh so that's where your mouth went.

From another planet? Oh, your an Avali! He/They gotcha. Never went to school? You poor thing!

She's found them. Someone she can really relate to, in a way, and someone who could use some help. She worked as a teacher for a good 40 years, plenty of time to get degrees when you aren't dying any time soon.

And, well, I think we have an idea of what happens from here.

[weministertomonsters]

Vampires (Daenyel & Renaya) x human female reader - Part 2

  You have an idea, but you're not liking what you have to do. Despite Daenyel saying everyone was dead, if miraculously one of your attackers isn't fully dead yet, you may have a source of blood at your disposal. But you're not going up the hill without some kind of weapon.

    Luckily, you know that Ms. Renaya always keeps a knife on her person. You brush your hand along her leg, searching for a knife strap. She doesn't react to your touch, which means she's really out of it. You find it on her thigh, and brush her dress up to grab the dagger sheathed there, wincing at the cuts which are sluggishly healing on her skin.

    Then, you pick yourself up and totter up the hill, blinking to try and clear your blurry vision. You approach Ms. Renaya's car cautiously. It's so mangled that you have no idea how she and Daenyel made it out alive. Her bodyguards weren't so lucky. One of them is hardly more than a pulp with one intact arm. The clan tattoo on his wrist is the only thing that identifies him as one of yours.

    You clamp a hand over your mouth and hastily turn away. The other bodyguard is riddled with bullet holes. From the hole in his skull, it looks like he died pretty quickly. Other dead bodies are piled around. Most of them have been killed vampire-style with slashed necks or gutted bodies or ripped limbs, a violent retaliation. There's nothing that makes a vampire more feral than a threat to their safety. You do your best not to look too closely. You skirt around the smoking car and hear a groan.

    You find a man under a chunky piece of metal that must have come from the car. He looks like he's pretty much in one piece, just stuck. Broken legs, maybe? You push against the metal and the man hollers in pain, his eyes flying open. You ignore him, shoving and pushing until the metal rolls off. One of his legs is broken, and bone jutting out of his shin. His feet are mushy patties in his boots. Blood has soaked into the ground around his flattened boots and it takes everything in you not to vomit.

    "I can do this," you tell yourself, crouching beside him.

    The man seems to guess what you're planning on doing because he groans through harsh breaths,

    "I'd rather die!"

    He snatches the dagger from you, intending on slitting his throat. You wrestle it away from him, crying out as a sharp edge slices across your palm. You slap him, distracting him enough to yank the dagger away and hold it out of reach.

    "You knew what could happen when you signed the contract, just like I did," you snap breathlessly. "I am sorry that it has to end like this for you, but I don't have much of a choice."

    You stand up and grab his arms. He struggles, but there's not much he can do but kick his ruined feet and shout curses as you drag him down the hill.

    "They are just using you! Once you're no longer useful to them, they'll drain you and throw you into an unmarked grave with the others," he babbles.

    "It's not such a big deal," you scoff, spitting a hank of your windblown hair out of your mouth. "Humans use each other all the time. And just like humans, not all vampires are like that."

    "It is in their nature," he groans. "Only The Order can save us from our inevitable doom."

    "What Order?" You ask sharply, but the man realizes he's said too much and presses his lips together, and refuses to say anything else.

    Finally, you reach your employer and her clan brother. Daenyel looks like he's worse off, so you drag your human blood bag toward him. The man weeps in terror. You have to stand over Daenyel and use your weight to yank the piece of wood out of his chest. It retracts with a sickening squelch, and Daenyel's eyes flicker open, ruby red and hungry.    

    You back away, and grab the man's arm. He's muttering some kind of prayer under his breath. You can't do this. The dagger shakes in your grip and your eyes blur with tears. Before you have to do it, however, Daenyel is shoving you out of the way and practically falling into the man, sinking his fangs into his neck.

    You look away and crawl over to your employer. Even now she looks beautiful. Your hand is already bleeding, so you brush it on your jeans and once it is as clean as it's going to get, you press it against her mouth, wincing as the pressure aggravates your injury and causes it to start bleeding again. You startle as she wakes up, eyes fluttering open. Unlike Daenyel, she doesn't go feral at the taste of blood.

    Her hand comes up and holds yours as her cold tongue laps delicately at the injury. With her other hand, she pulls you on top of her. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel it happening again as you accidentally fall into a trance-like state.

    You're acutely aware of her jutting hipbones pressing against yours, the soft press of her stomach, and the rise of her breasts as she breaths. Your head droops, bringing your face closer to her. Her eyes are stunning and you can't look away. At some point, she stopped feeding, probably when her saliva healed your wound. She's still holding your hand and her breath is an iron-scented flutter against your cheek. Her eyebrows draw together and she's about to ask you something when Daenyel's shadow falls over the two of you.

    The worst of his injury has healed into a pulsing partially closed wound, but he still needs blood. So does Ms. Renaya.

    "Dawn is coming," he says. "We must find shelter."

    Ms. Renaya sits up, letting your hand go.

    "Yes," she agrees. "We will discuss what to do later."

    "Should I go and get help? I can make it into town," you offer.

    "No, pet," Ms. Renaya says. "The walk is long and you may meet danger along the way. I'm not willing to risk that."

    "You care much for this mortal," Daenyel says, shaking out his dreadlocks so they fall over his shoulders.

    He lost the rubberband at some point.

    Ms. Renaya brushes past her brother. "Leave your speculations for a time when we won't be in imminent danger of burning," she says.

    The three of you make it up the hill and into the trees. You keep glancing nervously at your watch, but the two vampires don't need watches to sense the coming dawn. Their unease shows in every twitch in their step, every sweep of their eyes. It's a miracle that you find something that resembles a cave that is deep enough to protect a vampire from the sun. It's just enough. Ms. Renaya hesitates.

    "Brother, it would be good if we hunt before bedding down for the night," she says.

    Daenyel's fangs flash as he grins. "You used to hate it so when I would hunt so close to the sunrise."

    "This is different," Ms. Renaya snaps. "We cannot wake and drain Miss Pierce. Contrary to what you are thinking, she is very valuable to me."

    Daenyel looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. You look away and promptly trip on a tree root.

    "Sorry," you mumble. "You two can go ahead and hunt. I'll be waiting here."

    The two vampires move so fast that they almost seem to disappear into the trees. You glance at your watch one last time and walk into the cave. It's too small for you to stand properly, so you crouch and brush away loose twigs and rocks so that at least the floor is clean of debris. You settle cross-legged and pick nervously at the dried flakes of blood on your hands, trying not to think too much. A few minutes later the crack of a twig has you startled and you hold your breath and pray that it's not a random person, or worse, a hunter.

    "It's just us, Miss Pierce," Ms. Renaya calls out as she steps out of the trees.

    Daenyel follows her, dressed in nothing but his jeans, having discarded his tattered shirt. They both look a bit cleaner like they found a stream and washed off the worst of the carnage. Ms. Renaya is holding a bottle of water. It must have been left behind by a hiker and she filled it.

    "For you to wash your hands," she explains, handing it to you.

    "Thanks," you murmur gratefully.

    You crouch in the entrance and do just that. You're tempted to drink some of it, but you know you won't be here for too long, so you can hold out. When you turn, the vampires have squeezed themselves in as far as they can go. Ms. Renaya has braided her hair against her shoulder and Daenyel is lying on his side, spooning her. She, in turn, pats the ground in front of her.

    "Come, Miss Pierce. You wouldn't want to spoil your sleep cycle. Not after you put so much effort into changing it."

    You crawl over but hesitate to lie down.

    "Shouldn't I keep watch?"

    "My familiar will do that," Ms. Renaya says.

    "Gertrude is here?" You question, glancing at the mouth of the cave to see if you can spot the raven, but you don't.

    "Put your back to me," Ms. Renaya instructs.

    You lie down with your back against her, wincing at how uncomfortable the ground is. She pulls you closer, so you become the third spoon. You're not sure what to think about that. Ms. Renaya has always been nice to you but in a strictly professional way. The closest she has been was when she held your hair back at a party when you had too much to drink and disgraced yourself in front of the vampire elders.

    Now her breath tickles the back of your neck and her hand rests lightly on your hip. It's confusing but comforting. After everything that's happened today, comfort is a welcome feeling. Despite the less-than-comfortable sleeping arrangement, you end up dozing off.

    You wake up before either vampire because you have to pee. The sun is setting and the sky is awash with a golden-pink hue. You and Ms. Renaya have been using Daenyel's outstretched arm as a pillow. Your lips twitch in a smile and you ease away and stumble out of the cave, wincing as your body aches. Sleeping on the floor does that. Once you've relieved yourself, you come back to the cave to find both vampires stirring.

     Ms. Renaya arches her back, stretching. Daenyel grunts and presses his nose against the back of her neck, taking in her scent. Her lips curve into a smile and she elbows him away. It makes you wonder exactly what kind of relationship they have. He's her clan brother, but she never mentioned him until yesternight. Ms. Renaya's eyes open and she looks at you. You wince at being caught staring.

    "Hey," you say.

    Ms. Renaya smiles, but it's the smile she uses when she's suspicious of something or someone. She crawls up to you, and the left strap of her dress slips down on her arm, loosening the dress enough to show the curve of one of her breasts in the dimness of the cave. Suddenly, you can't breathe.

    "I believe you are right, Daenyel. My ghoul entrances all too easily," she said, leaning back on her heels. "Miss Pierce."

    "Yes?" You clear your throat and look up at her face.

    "Is it about time to strengthen our bond?" She asks. "Has it been three months already?"

    "More or less," you agree. "But I think you should wait until we get back-"

    The vampiress doesn't heed you as she lifts her wrist to her mouth and bites down. "I have enough blood to spare," she says. "Drink."

    There's no use arguing now. You press your lips to her offered wrist. You're used to the slightly sweet metallic taste by now and your stomach remains settled as you gingerly swallow. Small mercies. Ms. Renaya leans forward again, to test the bond. It's like a pressure in your brain, an uncomfortable hum of energy. And between your legs, you ache. You're flaming hot right now and there's no way to disguise how fast your heart is beating. Ms. Renaya's cool fingertips grab your chin.

    "Are you alright, Miss Pierce?"

    Daenyel scoots over, and you don't like the gleam in his eye very much. He grabs your hair and tilts your head to the side, with enough force to make you gasp.

    "Smell her," he says.

    Ms. Renaya leans forward, her hair tickling your neck and shoulder.

    "Oh my," she says. "Miss Pierce?"

    "Sorry," you grimace. "I... I can't help it."

    In the darkness, you can barely make out the uncharacteristic smirk on her face. She doesn't look angry. She looks pleased.

    "What a delightful surprise, brother. Who would have thought I would find a human so receptive?"

    Her sharp nails trace dangerously delicious patterns on your thighs. Your breath catches as her nails tease over your inner thighs.

    "W-what are you doing?" You gasp.

    "Right now, you can forget I'm your employer, Miss Pierce," Ms. Renaya says calmly. "It has been too long since I indulged myself."

    Daenyel laughs behind you, pulling you against his back.

    "Are you afraid, Miss Pierce?" He purrs.

    "No," you admit, and it's not a lie.